


let me run (won’t you let me run?)

by celestial_horizon



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bullying, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Hogan Needs A Drink, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, No Major Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Sokovia Accords, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), implied/referenced past rape/non-con, no room for that here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_horizon/pseuds/celestial_horizon
Summary: "We'll be okay," Tony whispered as another violent shiver wracked through his body. Peter couldn't find the strength to say anything, just barely managing a weak nod as his mentor pulled him in a little bit closer. They would get through this. They always did.-A collection of angsty one-shots based off of the Bad Things Happen Bingo board.





	1. hand stomp

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to badthingshappenbingo on Tumblr for the prompt board, go check them out!
> 
> Enjoy :)

“ _Please_ ,” Peter begged, grunting as a repulsor blast grazed his left side. He winced at the white-hot burning sensation that now spread across the entire half of his torso, cringing at the bitter smell of burning flesh quickly filling the air. The Iron Man suit remained silent and continued to advanced towards the teenager.

 

Peter, Tony, Rhodey, and Vision had been sent out on a mission to take down some telekinetic jerk that was terrorizing the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Closing a perimeter and evacuating all civilians was a breeze, but the fact that nobody had eyes on the villain and he was wrecking entire city blocks like a category 5 hurricane didn’t give the Avengers or the spandex-clad vigilante much hope of this ending in time for the brunch Peter and Tony had planned.

 

An hour passed and Tony used most of his suit's power, eventually damaging his thrusters to the point of uselessness while Peter was attempting to keep destruction at a minimum by webbing all the debris that was flying through the air, effectively using up every webbing cartridge (a feat he’d never actually considered achieving). So while Vision, Rhodey and the experts over at SHIELD continued to search for the perpetrator to the best of their ability, the billionaire and his protégé situated themselves on a rooftop to keep watch in case of any civilians they may have missed or wandered into the perimeter they’d set.

 

Everything was going fine for about several minutes before it went to shit.

 

Pete was rambling on about his webbing and a new formula he wanted to test that’d allow for more storage per cartridge when Tony went limp, dropping like a sack of potatoes. Peter yelled his name and was at his side immediately, shouting at Karen to scan the unconscious man. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary besides a few minor contusions so Peter reached his hand out to gently nudge the hero’s slack face, hoping he could awaken him.

 

The teenager’s fingers barely brushed his cheek before Tony’s eyes snapped open and he gripped Peter’s wrist, slamming him into the ground on the other side of himself. The wind was immediately knocked out of the boy however he barely perceived it over the sickening crunch of his wrist.

 

When the boy’s back hit the gravel and the pain finally registered he let out a wretched cry, hands shooting to where Tony still had an iron grip on his now broken carpals.

 

“M-Mr. Stark it’s— _Agh_ , it’s me!” He’d shouted. When Tony still refused to let up Peter finally cracked open his eyes, fear striking into his heart at the sight he was met with.

 

Tony’s pupils had disappeared, his eyes completely white and vacant of any emotion. There was a slight glow to them that sent chills down Peter’s spine, his spidey senses screaming at him to do something. When Pete still didn’t move for an entire second more his instincts decided to take over and the young hero loosened the man’s grip, shoving him four feet to the edge of the roof. Tony caught himself before teetering over the edge, standing upright in such a controlled way he looked like a robot. Peter, on the other hand, was struggling to regain his composure a few yards away. He clutched his wrist with his good hand and forced back the tears of pain and fear that pricked at his eyes.

 

“Mr. Stark, what’s—“

 

“Peter Parker,” He froze, insides turning to ice. The voice coming out of Tony’s body was not his own. It was deep and distorted, something straight out of a horror film. His mentor tilted his head as if trying to understand something. “I didn’t think somebody so young to be our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

 

It was then that Peter came to the realization Tony was being mind controlled, most likely by the same person causing so much destruction a few blocks away.

 

“That’s right,” the voice said with amusement. Holy shit, was this guy reading his mind? “That I am. Unfortunately, I can’t control both of you at the same time. If that was the case I’d simply have you stand there while I forced Stark to rip your throat out.”

 

Peter felt sick, adrenaline rushing as his mind went into panic mode. He had to do something, call someone to let them know what was happening. He was about to shout the order at Karen to alert Rhodey when the voice called out, “Override code 5379-A,” the mask went dark as Peter’s suit was effectively shut down. “This is between me and Stark. Can’t have your friends ruining the party.”

 

Peter took off the mask. He was blind in that thing without the power, plus this sicko was in Tony’s head. He already knew his identity and probably everything about him. “Why are you doing this?” Peter questioned once he found the will to do so.

 

“Stark took everything from me. It’s only fair that I take everything from him, starting with the person he cares most about,” Peter’s chest flared with a range of emotions as his spidey sense blared once again in warning. “My name is Isaac Ramos. Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

 

He raised Tony’s hand and fired.

 

And so, it began. For almost two full minutes they battled it out, consisting of mostly dodging and bargaining on Peter’s part. Isaac, as he now knew him, seemed to get more and more irritated with every shot that missed and let out a growl before firing two successive blasts, the second grazing Peter’s side. Which led them to where they now stood. Pete, clutching his scorching side, baring his teeth as he tried to ignore the immense pain from not only that but his broken wrist. Isaac, having full control over his mentor’s body with a mind clouded by revenge and hate.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” the teenager tried once more, backing up quickly from the rapidly advancing threat. “You can stop now, we can get you help—“

 

“ _I don’t need help!_ ” The voice bellowed. Before either of them could even blink, the compartment full of ammunition popped up from the suit’s shoulder and fired a single bullet that tore through Peter’s ankle. He fell to the ground with a howl, overcome by pain. His mentor’s body kneeled on top of the boy, effectively pinning him down. A few stray tears leaked from the boy’s eyes and he continued to whimper and groan as his injuries were irritated further by the metal hand that pressed down on his charred side. “Tony Stark took _everything_ from me!” A blade shot out from the suit’wrists, pointed end mere centimeters from Peter’s eyeball. The boy froze, breathing labored. He didn’t dare move a muscle, refraining from anything that may risk jarring the arm above him that shook with rage. “There’s no amount of money, or medicine, or _therapy_ that would suffice,” He spat. The silver glinted in the sunlight, still hovering much too close to Peter’s chocolate irises. “He’ll never be faced with consequences for what he did, so it’s me that has to deliver them.”

 

Peter almost sighed a breath a relief when the blade was raised away from his face, only to be overcome with crippling agony as it was plunged through his right shoulder. He couldn’t tell whether or not he screamed. The pain was completely overwhelming, he may have even blacked out for a second.

 

Peter’s good hand came up to try and rip it out, to do _anything_ to alleviate the harrowing affliction, but it was done for him. The feeling of the metal sliding out was almost as horrible as it getting stabbed in and he cried out once more. Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Peter forced his body to roll over onto his chest. The boy made a pitiful attempt to crawl away but was stopped after not even a second. Isaac hauled him up and held him in the air, making his way to the edge of the building.

 

But Peter didn’t have webbing and god, he was in so much pain. It left him tremendously weak, the boy hadn’t felt this helpless since Toomes dropped the warehouse on him. If Peter fell, he wouldn’t be able to catch himself.

 

“And now, for the finale,” his voice was laced with sadistic anticipation. Tony’s hands clutched Peter by the collar of his suit, dangling him over the edge of the building. The teenager’s feet were flailing, scrambling for anything solid he could stand on. The cement six stories below taunted him as he gripped onto the metal arm of the Iron Man suit, the only thing keeping him from becoming a pancake on the sidewalk.

 

In a sudden act, Isaac loosened Tony’s grip and let go, dropping the young hero. Peter’s stomach swooped and he yelped, arms instinctively reaching out for something, anything to grab on to.

 

Pete wasn’t sure if it was the twisted man’s intentions all along but the boy’s left hand caught the edge of the building. His breaths came out in pants, using his powers to stick like he never had before. Tony’s body was moved just as mechanically as before and he kneeled in front of Peter’s panicked form with a sickening smirk plastered on his face. Somehow through the raw fear he felt, a surge of hate raged through his body. This evil scamp was downright violating Tony. He was forcing his mentor to carry out unspeakable actions, making his worst fucking fear come true all for some revenge plot. Peter would never be able to find the words that did justice in describing Isaac Ramos. All he knew was that no matter what, Mr. Stark was going to rip this man apart. Peter took comfort in knowing that whether he lived or died, this asshole would get what’s coming to him. He’d lose.

 

“See, Spider, that’s where you’re wrong,” he chuckled, grabbing Peter’s wrists as if to pull him up, only doing so to unstick his hands from the ledge and dangle him further away from safety. “He’s already suffered. Whether you die or not is just a bonus. He’s aware of everything that’s happening right now. He can feel what he’s doing, that pain he is inflicting,” Peter’s blood ran cold. _No_. “Stark just doesn’t have the power to stop me. Even if the fall doesn’t kill you he’ll still have to live with the fact that he tortured you and couldn’t do anything to prevent it,” the man tightened his hold on Peter’s broken wrist, causing him to groan. Tony’s head snapped up, silent for a few seconds while Peter continued to struggle. “It seems as though they’ve found me,” Isaac looked back down at the teenager once more. “Good luck.”

 

He let go.

 

* * *

 

As soon as that bastard forced Tony to let go he left the man’s mind, leaving him standing over the ledge helplessly as he watched his kid plummet to the ground.

 

“No!” He screamed, reaching his hand out towards Peter. Tony swore their fingers brushed for a split second, but it didn’t matter. His kid kept falling and falling before he landed on an abandoned minivan that was parked on the street below.

 

Tony will never forget the sound of his body smashing into the vehicle, nor the silence that followed. There were no onlookers to scream in horror as they watched the scene unfold, no allies to rush to the kid’s aid, not even the sound of enemies tearing down third avenue to drown out the gruesome shattering of glass and the folding of metal that caved in around Peter’s body. The silence was deafening, unlike anything he’d experienced before.

 

Tony snapped out of the trance-like state, mentally cursing himself for wasting so much time doing nothing but lying there, staring at his kid’s unconscious, hurt, and possibly dying body.

 

“Friday, get somebody over here, _now_. Rhodes, Vision, Fury, I don’t give a shit. Whoever can get Peter to the tower fastest,” he yelled, finally standing upright and jumping onto the fire escape. As he made his way down the rusty and clamorous stairs he said, “Debrief Cho and have her prep for his arrival as quickly as she can.” Friday hummed in confirmation.

 

Once Tony was close enough to the bottom he hopped off, the sound of the suit impacting with the concrete echoing throughout the empty Manhattan street. The man immediately stepped out of the damned thing, feeling as though it was crushing him. He carefully made his way over to Peter’s seemingly lifeless form, trying his best not to vomit at the sight. “Activation code 46-C. Have Karen send a full body scan to Cho and broadcast his vitals to her.”

 

“Yes, boss. Would you like to hear the—“

 

“No!” He snapped. No, he doesn’t think he could take hearing the gory details. The sight of his limp form was as much as he could take. _Burnt side. Bleeding shoulder. Torn ankle. Bent wrist. Bent arm. Bent leg. Bruised face._ Tony counted every visible wound one by one, repeating them like a mantra until help arrived. Maybe he should have put pressure on his shoulder or adjusted the boy’s form in case there were any obstructions he needed to take care of, but he couldn’t run the risk of making anything internal worse than it already was. His suit was drained and both his StarkPhone and Smart Glasses were crushed at some point during the initial battle, so he has no way of knowing whether or not he should do something or leave Peter undisturbed.

 

Tony barely registered when Rhodey touched down, only acknowledging him at the sound of his best friends voice, “Oh my god,” he spoke, appearing at Tony’s side.

 

“Rhodey. I— I did this to him, it—“

 

“You got whammied?” Rhodey cut him off, faceplate retracting to get a better look at the teen. “I know. He tried to get me too once we found him but Vision took him out before I could do any damage. But this is—“ He stopped abruptly, shaking himself out of it and switching back to his professonal demeanor. “Scan Peter. Tell me the best way to hold him without damaging anything further,” the colonel said to the AI in his suit. He encased his head in the War Machine helmet once again before nodded and placing his hands delicately on Pete’s form. Rhodes had barely even moved Peter before Tony was shouting at him to be careful and Rhodey had to tell him to relax, that the suit had taken over and was doing it better than anybody could. “Breathe, Tones,” he said once the teenager was settled into his arms. “He’s gonna be okay. Happy’s already on his way, he’ll take you to the tower.”

 

And with that he flew off, leaving Tony standing helplessly beside the green vehicle. Before long the screeching tires of Happy’s black sedan could be heard and the driver pulled up in front of him. Tony wasted no time yanking open the car door and slamming it shut. Without sparing the man a glance he said, “Fucking step on it.” And they were off.

 

* * *

 

 

For three hours they waited while Peter was in surgery, the doctors fixing what they needed to and assessing any further damage they may not have caught on the scans.

 

Peter had five fractured carpals, second degree burns on his left side, three bruised ribs, two cracked ones and four broken, two of which had punctured his right lung. That had been sustained mostly by the fall, which also caused his tibia and humerus to break. They couldn’t say what the extent of the damage done to his shoulder by the blade was by the scans so whether or not he’d ever be able to even use his arm was still up in the air. The bullet went right through his ankle, thankfully soft tissue took the brunt of the damage but his lateral malleolus got nicked.

 

Tony continued to restlessly pace in the waiting room outside the med bay. He was joined by Rhodey, Happy, May (Jesus, was telling her what happened one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do), and Peter’s friend who was either named Ted or Ned, he could never remember. Pepper stopped by occasionally, bringing everyone water, coffee, and a basket full of foods that were easy on the stomach. It was left relatively untouched by all but Rhodes, who took one of the packets and made himself a black coffee.

 

By the third hour, nobody could sit still. Even Rhodey had begun scraping at the back of his hand— an old nervous habit Tony hadn’t seen since they were waiting for their final exam results during their last few days at MIT. Tony wasn’t the least bit worried, in fact, he was more annoyed than anything. Even the Institute's hardest AP classes were a breeze for the genius and all he wanted to do was walk down that aisle at graduation, get the degree and sign up for next semester’s classes so he could get another one and shove all the certifications Howard didn’t have right in his face. Rhodey, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. His perfectionist attitude didn’t allow him to relax until the results came. For him, waiting to hear the test scores was ten times more terrifying than taking the exams themselves. By the end of it, he needed to get his hand bandaged as Mass Gen.

 

Tony tapped on the colonel’s shoulder, opening his mouth to say some snarky line about how his hand was going to look infected with flesh-eating bacteria by the end of the day if he kept it up when Helen finally came through the doors. He’d never been so relieved and terrified at the same time. Everybody got to their feet immediately, staring at the woman who still donned her blue scrubs and surgical cap.

 

“He’ll be okay,” the collective sigh of relief that filled the room almost made Tony feel relieved himself. Almost. “We had to pump him with enough drugs to keep Captain America down for a week in order to ensure he didn’t wake up in the middle of the operation, but there were no complications,” she said. Helen always kept the utmost professionalism but not even she could hide the glint of pride and solace that sparkled in her eyes. “We did, however, discover that the damage done to his shoulder was less than ideal. The majority of the blade sliced right through his cartilage, but it nicked one of his brachial nerves,” She continued. Tony’s heart dropped. Damaged nerves? That could cause a world of problems. Chronic pain, loss of function, numbness. If Tony was the reason the kid had to stop being Spider-Man, he didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself.

 

“But, the nerve wasn’t cut off completely and with Peter’s extraordinary healing abilities I expect him to face little to no complications in that area. He should regain full use within a couple weeks,” Tony nodded, bringing his hand up to grip his left arm that shook with anxiety.

 

“Good, good,” He breathed out. “What about the, um, pneumothorax?”

 

“It’s a good thing you got him here as quickly as you did. By the time he was on the table blood was already filling his lungs. We drained everything and patched his ribs up, but we’ll have to keep an eye out for pneumonia or any post-op infections for that matter.”

 

“What about—“ Tony started, but was cut off by Helen’s raised hand.

 

“Anything that may be life-threatening or could cause further harm I’ve already explained. The other doctors and my nurses can answer any further questions you have,” She said, taking off her surgical cap and breathing out a tired sigh. “I need to get back to my own work, but I’ll stay in the tower until he makes a full recovery.”

 

“Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ,” May exclaimed, pulling Cho in for a hug. Tony let them have their moment before asking whether or not they could see him, to which she said yes, but only two at a time and that he isn’t expected to wake up for a couple more days. Helen reminded them once more to ask her other staff any questions before turning to leave.

 

“Helen,” Tony said as everybody else in the room broke out into quiet conversation. “Thank you.” She gave a nod before disappearing behind the double doors.

 

Everyone decided May and Tony should see him first. Tony was against the idea after all this was his doing but one look from Peter’s aunt told him it wasn’t going to go any other way. He was glad May wasn’t furious at him, hell the only reason she got angry at all was because the billionaire was blaming himself, but in a way, it frustrated the man. It was his fault. He should have fought harder against Ramos’ control, should have pushed him out. He should’ve located the bastard faster so none of this could have happened in the first place and four city blocks weren’t completely demolished. It was his fault, yet here everybody was, trying to convince him otherwise.

 

Rhodey’s hand on his shoulder brought Tony back to the present. “I know that look, Tones. You’ve gotta stop beating yourself up over this,” He said softly. “Look, it was everybody’s fault. Every one of us in this room could have done something differently. But for you to keep telling yourself that you could’ve resisted mind control is bullshit,” He lowered his voice slightly. “My guys over at Shield are saying this guy’s powers go beyond anything they’ve seen before. They’re saying even Maximoff would have trouble breaking his control. So don’t tell me you could have.” Tony met Rhodes’ eyes. What did he do to deserve him?

 

May waved him over. “Now go see your kid,” Rhodey nudged him forward, watching him disappear behind the doors.

 

With every step, Tony’s heart rate seemed to increase. They were being led down a hallway Tony had reserved for the worst-case scenarios when it came to injuries, and the fact that it was Peter who occupied one of these rooms sent his anxiety through the roof once again.

 

The nurse stopped outside his room, “I’ll give you twenty minutes before the switch out,” he said, opening the door. Tony wasn’t ready, but his feet carried him onwards anyways. His knees almost gave out when he caught sight of the boy for the first time. Then again, he wasn't sure what he was expecting.

 

Peter was hooked up to so many wires it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. His broken leg was kept elevated by a stack of pillows and his arm was kept hanging to make way for the ventilator that snaked its way down his throat. Tony supposed it was just a precaution because of the damage done to his lungs but it made him nauseous all the same. Bandages covered his bad shoulder as well as the left side of his torso, and there were two separate IV bags hanging above their heads.

 

“Hey, honey,” May said softly. Her fingers came up to fondly brush a few stray curls out of the way. “Took quite a beating, huh?”

 

 _God_ , Tony couldn’t do this. He turned to leave, too ashamed to even look at the boy he almost stole from this world when May called his name.

 

“Tony, c’mere,” she spoke, transfixed by something at the edges of Peter’s hairline. He reluctantly made his way back over to the sleeping boy and his aunt, confused when he saw nothing there. She sensed this and waved at him to come closer. “Look,” she chuckled. “He still has the scar from when he and Ben were reenacting the Battle of New York,” when Tony still didn’t say anything, she continued on. “Peter was pretended to be Black Widow and tried to do a flip off of the dining room table,” Tony almost chuckled himself. _He would_. “But he hit his head hard on the edge of the table and again when he landed on the floor,” her smile faded as she recollected the negative side of the story. “We rushed him to the ER, but he was put into a coma for three days. God, Ben and I were terrified. He was so young and we’d only been looking after him for a few years at that point. We didn’t know what we’d do if—“ She didn’t allow herself to finish that sentence, instead clearing her throat.

 

“He never told me that,” Tony spoke, hesitantly bringing his own hand up to brush over the thin line which marked where Peter had struck the table. Through the intense feelings of guilt and fear, a little seed of happiness and love blossomed somewhere within his heart.

 

“Yeah, he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal,” she breathed out. “Not even a week after we got out of the hospital I caught him trying to do it again.”

 

Both he and May laughed for a few moments, relishing in the brief instant of serenity amongst the awfully painful day that they’d all remember with great despair for the rest of their lives.

 

“What I’m trying to say, Tony, is that this isn’t any different,” The man looked her in the eye for the first time that evening. “You heard what Doctor Cho said. In a few weeks, he’ll be back out there doing his thing, fighting crime and helping old ladies get their cats out of trees. Peter’s going to be okay. _He’ll be okay._ ”

 

The pure sincerity in her voice and genuine belief in her own words ignited a spark inside Tony. A notion that everything truly would turn out fine, that once Peter woke up he wouldn’t be afraid of Tony, that he wouldn’t develop pneumonia or some post-operational infection and there wouldn’t be any complications. Even if Tony didn’t forgive himself, even if he drowned in self-loathing for the next month, Peter would be fine.

 

He repeated May’s words over and over again in his head during the coming days like it was the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe it was. But when Peter woke up and the first words to come out of his mouth were a joke about Screenslaver from Incredibles 2, Tony was finally able to break that vicious mantra.

 

“You’re going to be okay,” he said.

 

 _He was going to be okay._

 


	2. working through the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “P—Pete, we have t—to,” he insisted. Ned wasn’t slurring and could still support Peter’s weight, but he was shivering almost as much and the other boy looked just as miserable. “Y—You can barely stand up, a—and what happens when I c—can’t either?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it’s been like a month since I posted the first chapter and I'm so so sorry !! I got caught up in midterms and schoolwork and after that a personal issue gave me a horrible case of writer's block, but I'm back for good and updates should be MUCH more consistent !
> 
> ! TW FOR IMPLIED/PAST RAPE/NON-CON ! There's nothing graphic but it's in there so if that's something you're touchy about, please be careful!
> 
> (Also let me just say, I did not expect this to be 7k words but here were are lmao)
> 
> Enjoy :)

It was the coldest winter in almost a decade. The temperature dropped to the negatives and never went higher than 15 degrees. It was great for those who loved soft blankets of snow draped over trees and shop overhangs, the way your breath crystallized in the air with each exhale, and a cool breeze to wake you up on a slow Wednesday.

 

But for people like Peter Parker, it was something akin to torture.

 

It wasn’t that he hated winters, in fact it was his favorite season for most of his life. Playing the snow and sledding down steep snow banks were some of he, Ben, and May’s favorite activities for as long as Pete could remember. Plus the whole aesthetic to the holidays never failed to make Peter feel a warm glow of nostalgia. But then he went and got bitten by a radioactive spider, and everything changed.

 

It took Peter about two weeks after the first snow of the season to realize that much like spiders, his body couldn’t thermoregulate. At least, not as well as it should. But he remained a bit unsure and popped the question to Tony one day casually during a lab session, prompting the man to practically buy out Amazon’s entire stock of blankets and heaters, putting together a custom winter coat for Peter that contained small but effective thermal patches, and insisting to pay the Parker’s heating bill for the rest of the winter months despite May’s adamant protesting. Everything seemed to be looking up.

 

Until Midtown High's basketball team started to lose.

 

Unlike most other schools in the country, basketball had been the area’s most popular competitive high school sport for decades rather than football, and Midtown’s team was famous for never failing to come out on top. But two of the three star players graduated and their biggest rivals, the Flatbush Asgardians, had just gotten a new transfer student who was something of a child prodigy in the sport. Needless to say, the team was not happy and, being the stereotypical group of jocks they were, started taking it out on the lower caste of the social hierarchy. Even Flash, who hadn’t gotten physical since going through a particularly rough patch in eighth grade, begun to engage in these vindictive activities. It started small-- shoving kids into lockers, tripping them in the hallways. But then they became more of elaborate pranks. They stole one kid’s clothes while he was showering after gym class and would have forced him to walk all the way to his locker half-naked to get them if it hadn’t been for MJ. Another time, they pants'd a poor freshman in the middle of the hallway. Nobody really found it funny except for the perpetrators and a good amount of the boy’s peers stepped in to help him, so it could have been worse but either way it was completely unacceptable.

 

Michelle was, of course, the first one to speak up about it to a teacher. After her, more and more people started to gain the courage to as well. But even with such a large amount of students making it clear to staff that the team was a huge problem, the harshest punishment they faced was a few days of detention and due to the fact that the boy’s continued their endeavors without serious consequences, most people became too afraid to say anything in fear that the group would find out and target them next as some kind of punishment.

 

So the bullying went on, every student without that social flare in a constant state of wondering when they were gonna be next, what the boys were going to do to them this time. Fortunately for Peter and Ned, however, their bullying never escalated above its normal level. Though relieved that they didn’t have water “spilled” over their crotches once a week or clothes stolen from their lockers every other gym class, the pair agreed that there was something very off about it. They were the two most obvious targets for this kind of behavior, yet were receiving a minimal amount of taunting. It was unnerving.

 

“You guys are jinxing it,” Michelle told them one afternoon during lunch. “If I were you, I’d bask in the sweet feeling of _not_ getting drenched in cafeteria mystery meat,” She spoke as some poor kid was dealing with the aftermath of just that.

 

So Ned and Pete followed her advice, focusing instead on schoolwork and decathlon practice rather than whether or not they would be the basketball team’s newest laughing stock. For three weeks things went smoothly, in fact, the team even had a few wins that qualified them for semi-finals. The boys laid up on the nerds and geeks now that they were preoccupied with practice and everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief.

 

Though things were looking up, the pressure was getting to some of the boys and naturally they took it out the same way they had been all season long. As the game date rapidly approached the entire school seemed to be holding their breath once again. If the team won and had a chance at getting to the finals, they might finally let up the vicious taunts and never-ending elaborate pranks. If not, well, things would turn into quite the clusterfuck, to say the least.

 

So when they lost to the Bayside Commodores with a devastating score of 75-35, everyone prepared for the worst. The first day of school following the game was one of the lowest days of attendance in Midtown’s history and those who dared to come to school that Monday looked over their shoulders constantly. Even Peter got a little on edge, but he wasn’t afraid to rip one of those asshole jocks off of some innocent freshman if he had to. Not with so much strength and intimidation that he exposed himself, but enough to shift the attention to him and allow whoever their initial victim was to get away. Peter would take years of bullying from these jerks if it meant no one else had to endure it.

 

So, it came as quite the shock when _nothing_ happened. No embarrassing taunts or jeers, no humiliating schemes or ventures from any of the players. Suddenly every other student felt what Peter and Ned had this whole time— there was something wrong that was hard to ignore, that the team had something greater planned and were just waiting for the right moment to strike.

 

A week and a half went by with no problems. It was a great relief to Peter especially, who was typically swarmed by Flash’s endless insults but was now so caught up in the fact that he could go about his day without having such put-down’s clouding his mind he didn’t even see it coming. Spider-Man didn’t help either, as his alter-ego had him considerably preoccupied with busting the biggest crime-lord of his superhero career so far. With Tony’s permission and help, of course.

 

Ergo, the teenager walked down a partially isolated and practically empty boulevard, tapping to the beat of The Shins’ upbeat track _Know Your Onion!_ while planning out his routine for the evening. There were a couple drug and arms deals he was set to bust after a few hours of patrol and he was to be home by 9:30 for a quick movie night with May, so if everything went as planned it should’ve been a satisfying day.

 

But the good ol' Parker Luck just couldn’t give him a break.

 

Peter leaned against the wall about half a foot away from a long alleyway, waiting for a local to finish assisting a pair of lost tourists across the street before quickly slipping into the alley, preparing to slide his backpack off. A familiar giddy excitement blossomed in his chest as he began to unzip the bag only to be abruptly cut off by his spider-sense buzzing in warning.

 

“Hey, Parker! What are you doin’ here?” A deep voice called from the opposite side of the way. Pete’s stomach filled with annoyance and dread. _Jake Dorman_ , he groaned internally. Co-captain of the basketball team, grade-A asshole. Peter forgot he lived around here. Nevertheless, the boy plastered a fake but friendly grin on his face, leaving his backpack stuffed behind the dumpster.

 

“Hi, Jake,” he called, remaining by the garbage bin as the other teen closed the distance between them. “I was just going for a walk.”

 

The older boy nodded, hands fumbling with something inside of his varsity jacket. Peter’s sixth sense poked dangerously at the back of his head.

 

“What’re you doing in Glendale? I thought you lived around Forest Hills,” he eyed Peter suspiciously and the teen shrunk under his gaze. The senior was six foot four, almost eight inches taller than him and though Pete could most likely rip this guy’s arm off by accident should they ever arm wrestle, he still felt extremely intimidated. All the years of being beaten and insulted into fearing classmates just like him didn’t disappear with the spider bite and that conditioning still very much lived inside of him.

 

“Well, I— I’ve been out for a while. Yeah,” he trailed off. In reality, he was in the area because of a tip he’d gotten that some low-level crooks were going to rob the bodega a few streets over. Whatever anger, stress, sadness, it be that he needed to let out could be done at the gym on a punching bag. People could _die_. A small business wasn’t about to have a crisis because some jock needed to let off a little steam. “Listen, it’s been nice talking to you but I really have to get going—“

 

“Hey, Parker!” Another voice shouted from directly behind him. The volume startled Peter and he flinched, turning around to come face-to-face with none other than Carl King, the captain of the basketball team. The older teenager gave Pete a hard shove and he sunk into the waiting arms of Jake, who seemed to hesitate before plunging a device into Peter’s neck. His entire body went rigid as electricity coursed through him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make a noise, could only feel excruciating pain until it was finally taken away. The boy went limp in Jake's hold and his limbs continued to twitch, completely immobile for the time being.

 

“You set it to the voltage I told you, right?” Carl said as they began dragging Peter’s languid form in the direction he’d come in. It sounded like they were underwater.

 

“Y—Yeah, man. You sure we didn’t paralyze him or somethin’?” Jake sounded overwrought, and Peter distantly wondered how he kept such a chill façade on while speaking with him just moments before.

 

“Don’t worry. My uncle does shit like this all the time, I know what I’m talking about,” he replied. Now that the ringing in Peter’s ears had ceased and it didn’t sound so much like he was plunged beneath a lake, the rumbling of an engine was audible as were a few frantic and excitable whispers coming from inside whatever vehicle was waiting.

 

Peter flexed his fingers to test their strength. He could make out about five guys total he would have to fight off, and assuming they were all from the basketball team it wouldn’t take much to knock them out. Whatever stun gun or taser Jake used was clearly supposed to knock Peter unconscious but seeing as he wasn’t normal it merely stunned him and he was already gaining most of his strength back.

 

Carl maneuvered Peter to carry him onto whatever elevated platform was there, stepping onto the van while holding his head carelessly. Pete was preparing himself. At the right moment, he’d kick out at Jake, use the side of the van for leverage and regain his balance before brawling it out with the rest of the boys.

 

It was getting close, his spidey-sense was telling him that it was almost time. His heart rate picked up, adrenaline surging as the boy readied himself for a rough and tumble that would take the school by storm. Just a little more—

 

Carl’s hand slipped and he promptly dropped Peter‘s head, the base of his skull to cracking sharply on the tough base of the van.

 

Peter blacked out instantly.

 

—————

 

He awoke to hands. Gripping at his arms, yanking his shirt off, tearing the buttons of his checkered undershirt apart. His belt buckle was promptly undone and snaked off through the loops of his blue jeans, pants being forced down as his legs were swiftly exposed to the cool air.

 

The clock in Peter’s head rewinded nine years, thrusting him back into his tiny old bedroom in Ben and May’s old apartment.

 

_“Come on, Einstein. Let’s conduct a little experiment of our own.”_

 

Voices above him snickering. Taunting.

 

_“No, Skip. I don’t want to do this, please!”_

 

Peter distantly felt his body being dragged against a cold, rough floor. His bare back was scraped painfully against the hard surface as his body was too petrified to offer any resistance.

 

“Please, please, stop,” someone begged aloud. Was it him? Or was he still trapped in that agonizing memory?

 

_“Cheer up, sport. It’ll be fun,” he spoke, shoving the young boy face-down into the sheets below. It was never fun. Skip never listened. Not until Ben and May made him go away_.

 

“Get off me, please,” the voice was strident now, desperate. The jeers got louder.

 

_“You’ll learn to enjoy it, Einstein. They always do.”_

 

_They always do._

 

_He never did._

 

Peter was snapped back to the present when something hard was driven into his ribs, stealing what little breath he had away. The teen wheezed, made painfully aware of his surroundings very quickly.

 

A sack had been thrown over his head in an attempt to either scare him or obscure his view, neither of which were successful because he was already terrified to hell and the material was paper thin— Peter could see right through it. Whether it was his enhanced senses or the shitty effort put in by his captors he didn’t know, but he was able to take in his surroundings including the faces hovering above him, his predicament coming back to him in a flash.

 

Right. Jake and Carl, the basketball team, getting fucking tased and thrown into a van.

 

Fantastic.

 

Peter wasn’t aware of the pleads spilling from his mouth until an older voice he didn’t recognize hissed, “Shut up,”, ripped the sack off, and clasped his grimy hand over the teenager’s lips, effectively silencing him.

 

“Holy shit, is Penis _crying_?” A more familiar voice announced, followed by an eruption of laughter from the group. Yet another thing he failed to realize was the stream of tears spilling down his face. He wasn’t downright sobbing but his puffy eyes and shuddering breaths must have been noticeable enough for these sadists to poke fun at.

 

When the man took his hand away Pete closed his eyes, taking deep breaths in an attempt to ground himself. Y _ou’re not there. Skip’s gone, Aunt May and Uncle Ben took care of him. You’re not there. Skip’s gone, Aunt May and Uncle Ben took care of him. In, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, hold it. Out, one, two, three, four, five._ He mouthed the phrases to himself on repeat until he had better control of himself. Once he did, Peter opened his eyes and assessed the situation as best he could, just like Colonel Rhodes had taught.

 

Peter took note of himself first: He was handcuffed, arms behind his back and in nothing but boxers. His head ached at the base of his skull where Jake had dropped him, but his healing was taking care of it. The boy’s muscles remained a bit stiff from the electricity but again, the feeling was fading quickly.

 

His surroundings didn’t fare much worse. They had taken Peter to some kind of warehouse, much like the one he’d followed Toomes to but smaller. It was already dark outside but seeing as it was January that didn’t tell him much. It got dark early, and Peter could have been out for anywhere from two hours to six. God, now that he mentioned it, the cold was really starting to get to him. The warehouse didn’t appear to have any heating systems and Pete was in nothing but his underwear.

 

A shiver wracked his body as he tested the cuffs. Standard. Peter could bend steel like paper clips, binding him with the flimsy metal chains was like wrapping his wrists with tissue paper. But he had an identity to keep, he needed to be smart about this.

 

Two of the five boys he’d counted were snickering at something on their phone and it didn’t take long for Peter to realize it was a video of _him_. Humiliation coursed through his veins at the sound of his pathetic pleading. He prayed to the gods above that they wouldn’t post it.

 

“Whaddya think, Parker?” Carl asked, his arms spread out as if he was showcasing some major achievement. Maybe kidnapping a teenager was on his list, who was Peter to judge?

 

“F—Flattering,” Peter cringed at the way he stuttered, but he was still coming down from that hysterical high and it was starting to get _really_ cold. “But I think a love letter would have gotten the message across just fine. Maybe a bouquet of flowers, or a box of chocolates—“

 

“Real funny, Penis,” a new voice interrupted. Ray Martin, he noted, another member of the basketball team. Peter couldn’t say he was surprised to see this particular teenager here, as his dad was constantly in and out of jail and his mom spent most of her disability checks on drugs and booze. Basketball was his only escape, so he felt for Ray when they started taking losses. But it wasn’t an excuse to treat people the way he did, much less abduct somebody. “But this isn’t a promposal.”

 

“I have to say I’m disappointed. This really would’ve taken the cake. Would have gone viral. Too bad you’re all going to get arrested,” he goaded. The entire group, save for that strange older man, tensed up and looked about ready to beat the snark out of Peter if not for the small, terrified voice that sounded from a few feet away. The voice that sent chill, dread, any negative emotion you could think of down Peter’s spine.

 

“Hello?” Ned’s shaky utterance echoed slightly throughout the warehouse. “I—Is anyone there?”

 

“Leeds, welcome to the party!” Jake exclaimed with way too much excitement, clapping Ned on his bare shoulder. He was in the same state as Peter— Handcuffed, wearing nothing but his boxers— only he still had the sack covering his head.

 

“Jake Dorman?” Peter’s friend questioned. Jake gave an affirmative, dragging him up so he could be sat next to Peter. The teenager's heart sank when he saw how much he was shaking, and he knew it wasn’t from the cold.

 

“Ned, are you okay?” Peter asked once they were less than a foot apart.

 

“Peter!” Ned blurted out with relief. The adult stomped his foot down suddenly, the sound booming throughout the building. It startled almost everyone but he and Carl, his expression suddenly very cross. The sack was torn from Ned’s head by another boy from the group whose face Peter couldn’t make out through the dark.

 

“Are we gonna get this over with, or what?” He snarled. His voice lowered to a volume he probably thought only the standing teenagers could hear, which wasn’t the case thanks to Peter’s heightened senses. “We were supposed to hold up that bodega on 81st tonight,” the man was inches from Carl's face. "Had to postpone it 'til next week for this," Peter stilled. _At least one good thing came from this,_ he thought grimly.

 

“Don’t worry, Uncle T. We just need the warehouse for a little while longer,” Carl replied back. The boys turned back around, seeming to prepare themselves for whatever they had planned next. Another violent shiver ran through Peter’s body. “Get the van ready. We’ll be out in a minute.”

 

As his uncle made his way out of the building, the rest of the teenagers began stepping towards Ned and Peter’s small forms in a slow, dramatic manner. Ray pulled something out of his pocket that glinted in the moonlight which shone through a broken window somewhere overhead, and Pete realized what it was too late.

 

Jake and some other kid Peter now recognized as Oliver Romero grabbed hold of he and Ned’s arms, securing the cuffs to a rusty pipe above. The pair of friends struggled, Peter doing as best he could without giving away his identity. What was he to do? Tony and May always emphasized his genius yet when it mattered most he came up blank. Logically Pete knew it must’ve been the concussion slowing down his thinking, but he still felt like there was some obvious way to get out of this he simply wasn't seeing.

 

Maybe they just had to endure it. It wasn’t like they were going to kill them. No, Peter’s spidey-sense would be much _much_ louder if he was going to die. (A small voice at the back of his head reminded him that he was speaking from experience). After all, that’s what Peter Parker had done since the day he set foot into the world. Keep your head down, shut up, and take whatever comes your way, the world told him. Things changed when he put on the mask, but now? He wasn't Spider-Man. He was Penis Parker, worthless laughing stock of a group of all-star basketball players with two cameras shoved in his face, chained next to his equally uncool best friend who were about to be humiliated for the third time that night. And if it wasn't him, then who would have to suffer through this? Some small, weaker, innocent kid who couldn't fight back even if he wanted to? Peter would heal. He'd always get back up. Someone else might not.

 

So when Ray slid the brass knuckles down his slender fingers, curled his hand into a fist and cracked Peter against the cheek the teen did what the universe programmed him to.

 

He took it.

 

———

 

Ten minutes or ten hours could have passed, Peter still wouldn’t have been able to tell nor care. Time blended into a haze of punches and kicks, angry blows and bitter slaps raining down on him in a storm of pain. In the beginning he tried to make a few remarks to distract them from targeting Ned as much as possible, but he stopped when one of them mentioned he was here by chance anyways. The plan was supposedly originally just going to be Peter but somewhere along the way an opportunity arose to snag his friend as well so they took him “ _just for kicks_ ”. At least, he thought it was something along those lines, but Pete tuned them out when he was sure Ned was safe. He could hear the other boy shouting for them to stop but they never listened, the attack relentless. At some point one of the players— Carl, was it?— must have slipped up and missed Peter’s face because the brass knuckles drove straight into his shoulder with a resounding _crunch_. The pain completely outweighed every other ache and sting causing the boy to let out a long shout, which only resulted in him getting a sock stuffed in his mouth. Soon after, Peter gave in and shut his eyes. He thinks he might’ve blacked out. Either way, when he opened his eyes again the group was gone as was the obstruction between his lips and Ned was calling his name while trying his best to scoot closer to Peter.

 

“—eter! Can you hear me? _Peter!_ ”

 

“N’d?” The boy croaked weekly. God, his head was _killing_ him. It hurt just to suck in a breath and his shoulder felt weirdly out of place. What had happened again?

 

“Yeah, it’s me. They’re gone,” he spoke, relief evident in his tone. Right. The basketball team, getting beat to a goddamn _pulp_. “Can you open your eyes again? You’re scaring me, dude.”

 

Peter obliged, having not realized he’d closed them again. It probably wasn’t a great sign he could barely stay awake, though it wasn’t surprising given the fact that he’d been knocked unconscious twice in one night.

 

“S’rry,” he slurred. Peter grit his teeth, bringing his legs up towards his chest. If he thought it was cold before, holy shit, it was _frigid_ now. “You’re o—okay?” He asked.

 

“Am _I_ okay?” Ned said in disbelief. “You should see yourself. We have to get you to the hospital or something!”

 

“That’d p—probably be a g—good idea,” his teeth chattered.

 

“Can you break out of the cuffs?” His friend asked hopefully. Right, super strength. Christ, had those assholes really just left them there? Even if Pete could thermoregulate, it couldn’t be warmer than ten degrees out and they were tied to a wall in their boxers. Had they been normal kids hypothermia could’ve set in within hours. Peter was suddenly immensely grateful they’d chosen him for their grand scheme.

 

He pulled, having to use a worrying amount of effort before the chains snapped with a satisfying clank, interrupted by a hoarse shout of agony from Peter. How’d he forget about the shoulder?

 

“‘M fine,” he spoke through bared teeth as if he could somehow convince himself it was true and get the pain to cease, ears ringing. It might’ve been dislocated, but he couldn’t tell for sure. _The bone might be shattered, tendons could be torn, and_ wow _thinking about it doesn’t help,_ he thought miserably.

 

Peter got to his feet quickly albeit shakily and ripped apart Ned’s handcuffs, arm gently cradling his shoulder. “Dude, that looks _bad_ ,” Ned supplied.

 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Peter responded sarcastically. His shivering had somehow increased in the two minutes since waking and it didn’t go unnoticed.

 

“They took all our stuff,” his friend spoke. “We need to get you help, you’re shivering about as much as my electric toothbrush,” Peter smirked but it fell once he turned towards the exit. If he was cold in here, he didn’t want to know what it felt like out there. “We can’t stay here, Peter.” Ned’s hand appeared on his shoulder. He flinched at the initial chill of skin against skin but ultimately leaned into the warmth as his friend began to rub up and down, generating little yet much-needed warmth.

 

“You’re right,” he replied, nodding. “It’s New York. H—Help can’t be f—far.”

 

The pair made their way over to the exit, swinging open the door on the count of three. Pete instinctively took a step back when the freshly chilled air hit him full force but Ned pushed him out the door, muttering something about getting this done sooner rather than later, because with Peter’s lack of thermoregulation, staying in the warehouse would ultimately end up being much worse for the both of him.

 

It became clear why the team chose this specific warehouse for their prank, as it was located in the middle of fucking nowhere. The Manhattan skyline was glistening in the distance and judging by the direction it was in they’d been dropped somewhere in the Bronx, but this industrial park hadn’t been touched by anyone but squatters and criminals in what had to be decades. The streets were empty, not even an abandoned car in sight and half the street lamps were either smashed or flickering. The only thing that guided Peter and Ned was the moonlight and his spider-sense, which understandably whined perpetually in his head. And _god_ , the _cold_. Peter didn’t think he’d ever been so utterly miserable in his life.

 

The temperature outside was bad enough, but it was the wind that really did it in for them. Each gust felt like a splash of ice water right in their face, whipping at their skin with a brutal force that caused a series of pinpricks to bite at their skin. Sometimes the wind winded down and just for a second the two thought maybe there would be a break in the onslaught, but right on cue another blast would catch the pair so off guard that they both stumbled back. Their feet weren’t managing much better either. The exposed flesh ensured Peter’s heels and toes were all the more sensitive, and each step on the rough sidewalk felt like a thousand tiny needles were getting shoved into the soles of his feet. Trash littered the pathways, the shattered glass and loose nails making every step in the dark like the universes sick, twisted version of Russian Roulette. Eventually, Peter’s feet went mercifully numb. He lost feeling in the appendage but was too afraid to look down in fear of seeing a nail sticking through his toe. He hoped Ned was doing better.

 

The first time Peter and Ned caught sight of someone was about five blocks from the warehouse. The boys were huddled together, arms wrapped around one another in a desperate attempt to produce some type of warmth when they spotted what looked like a man leaning against a dimly lit street lamp, half-smoked cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

 

“H—Hey!” Ned called, pulling an arm away to wave it in the air. Peter whined at the sudden loss of contact but the sound was lost in the howling of the wind. “We n—need some help!”

 

The man jumped up at the sound of Ned’s voice, posture like that of a deer in headlights. Peter’s sixth sense hadn’t warned him of anything more so he let his friend continue. “Please, we—we don’t have—“ As soon as Ned opened his mouth again, the man turned and sprinted in the opposite direction like his life depended on it. The two teens deflated, their first chance of rescue now gone.

 

The second time wasn’t much better. This time it was a woman, bundled in so many layers that her head was tremendously smaller than the rest of her body. They walked up to the lady but it was clear she had taken some kind of strong drug if the smell and fact that she wouldn’t stop rambling about Spongebob and Winnie the Pooh brawling across the street was anything to go by.

 

“We’ll come back for you,” Peter promised quietly. No one deserved to suffer alone like that. They took note of their location and committed it to memory before continuing on.

 

By the time they found a group of people capable of helping, Peter could barely stand up. Hypothermia was beginning to set in and his body was growing weaker with each step. The teen’s knees had given out twice now, and it was clear his body was not healing as it should have. Normally the cut above his cheek would have sealed by now and the bruising around his ribs would’ve settled into a light yellow color, but the gashes remained and his torso continued to act as a canvas of dark blemishes and swollen welts. The cold once amplified the pain of his injuries but Peter was now numb to everything. A _very_ bad sign, he was fully aware of that, but all the teen could focus on at that point was not collapsing into a heap and giving into the darkness.

 

But as they approached the group of men it was clear they hadn’t yet gotten lucky. The first two people they came across we incapable of helping them, but these guys? Peter’s spidey-sense began to blare in warning, clearing his hazy mind just long enough to croak out a warning to Ned.

 

“N—No,” he rasped, teeth clacking together rigorously. “Not t—them. D—Dang’r.”

 

“P—Pete, we have t—to,” he insisted. Ned wasn’t slurring and could still support Peter’s weight, but he was shivering almost as much and the other boy looked just as miserable. “Y—You can barely stand up, a—and what happens when I c—can’t either?” He left it at that and Pete knew he wasn’t going to be convinced otherwise. Maybe his spider-sense was going off for no reason and it was some weird side effect of the cold. There wasn’t anything he could do about it anyways. They needed to get help _fast_ , or Peter’s body was going to start shutting down.

 

“H—Hey!” Ned shouted at the group of men standing about a dozen feet ahead of them. They all turned to face him. “W—We need help! P—Please, call an ambulance o—or something,” he spoke, voice wavering. They soon closed most distance between them and the group, and Peter could finally see their individual faces.

 

Instead of being concerned, like any normal people would, they looked something akin to amused. The five guys that were there looked to be in their thirties and all wore the same dark, faded jackets. The tallest, who looked to be the leader, took out the toothpick he’d been gnawing on and spoke up first. “Jesus, the hell happened to you?”

 

Ned quickly explained how they were taken and left without their clothes, how Peter was injured and much weaker than he was. The teen was sure to speak fast and stress that they needed help fast, but after his explanation the leader simply glanced back at his friends with a smirk. There was some kind of unspoken communication between the five of them and the taller man nodded, taking a step forward. The four others moved in unison, surrounding Peter and Ned to trap them in a circle.

 

“Y’know, kids like you really ought to stay clear of men like us,” he spoke, a nauseating eagerness lacing his voice that Peter knew all too well. “Especially when they’re so,” he paused, moving a hand up to brush away a stray curl from Peter’s face. “ _Pretty_ ,” The boy flinched back from the stranger’s touch hard, slipping from Ned’s grip only to be caught by one of the men behind him. Two more of them grabbed hold of Ned with their gloved hands and Peter’s heart rate skyrocketed, senses screaming at him to move, to fight, to _do_ _something_. But the mix of his injuries, the cold, and pure fright paralyzed the teen. He felt completely useless. Ned was doing his best to fight back, but they both knew it was futile.

 

“N—No! Y—You’re not listening," Ned tried, "H—He needs help!” But all he got was a raised fist for a warning.

 

“Come on,” a second man purred. Peter’s stomach lurched with disgust. “Let’s go somewhere a little bit _quieter,_ shall we?”

 

Just as the men began to drag the two teenagers away, a voice from across the street boomed, “ _Hey!_ ”

 

Peter’s head snapped up, his body aching in protest but he didn’t care because could it be…? Was this his mind playing tricks on him? It had to be hypothermia taking effect. What would a man like that be doing in a shithole like this? All doubts were gone, however, when his face appeared as clear as day behind the men who were manhandling Ned.

 

“Holy shit, is that—?“

 

“It’s Iron Man!” One of them shouted.

 

“Forget the brats, get the hell out of here!” The leader yelled, followed by all other men scattering in different directions. Peter was dropped to the ground but he couldn’t care enough to catch himself and his head cracked against the pavement, vision going out for a moment. When it came back, the worried face of Tony Stark was above him, Ned right next to the man explaining their situation a million miles a minute.

 

“Kid?” He said once Peter opened his eyes. God, with the number of times he’s blacked out in one night it’ll be a wonder if he’s not a vegetable by the end of it.

 

“Mist’r St’rk?” He spoke thickly, a rough cough making its way out of his throat. Tony nodded.

 

“Yeah, bud,” The man pulled Peter into a sitting position. He threw off his jacket and wrapped it around the teenager, handing his blazer to Ned. It wasn’t much, but anything helped.

 

“C—Cold,” he whispered. Tony huffed out a humorless chuckle.

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” He replied, tapping the side of his glasses and muttering an urgent message that Pete didn’t quite catch. “Come on, we have to get you somewhere safe and warm. You’re less than two seconds away from turning into a Capsicle,” the man hauled his protégé to his feet and wrapped an arm around the boy for support, Ned doing the same without any real effect as he was getting almost as cold and weak as Peter, but the gesture was appreciated all the same. They made their way to the side of the road and Pete suddenly blurted something out.

 

“G’nna have t’ find me a T—Tauntaun,” he smirked, almost collapsing again before Tony caught him. The billionaire looked at the teen disbelievingly, completely caught off guard when Ned erupted into broken laughter. Mister Stark was clearly confused, but the two friends easily understood the _Empire Strikes_ _Back_ reference. Their moment of solace was cut short by the screeching of tires rounding the block, a familiar black Sedan coming to a lurching halt in front of the group. An exasperated Happy Hogan exited the vehicle, concern etched all over his face.

 

“Jesus, Tony, you were supposed to go on an undercover drug run, how the hell did you end up with—“ He stopped, coming face-to-face with a barely conscious Peter Parker and his equally half-naked friend. “What the fuck?”

 

“I’ll explain later, Hap. We need to get to the tower _now_ ,” he opened the back door, allowing Ned to slide in before setting Peter down in the middle. “Oh, and you might wanna take that jacket off. Blast the heaters, it’s about to get hotter than Satan’s—“ Peter couldn’t be bothered to keep listening. They were safe, they had been rescued, he didn’t need to hold on anymore. Pete hadn’t realized how _tired_ he was, eyes slipping closed the moment Tony entered the car next to him and slammed the door. He just needed to rest a little while…

 

Somebody was shaking him awake, calling his name repeatedly. What was wrong? Mister Stark was here, it would be okay, why wouldn’t they let him rest?

 

“No, no, no, kid. No sleeping allowed. Not yet,” The voice called.

 

“Tir’d,” he muttered, hoping the person would leave him alone. But the shaking persisted and whoever it was must have clipped his shoulder because his mind was suddenly filled with pain and he was crying out, gritting his teeth and shoving the hand away with his good arm. _That woke him up._

 

Peter snapped his eyes open to glare at the culprit, meeting his mentor’s eyes. His hazed mind felt betrayed, angry at the man for hurting him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But you _cannot_ go to sleep, Peter.”

 

Peter. Mister Stark never called him that.

 

It was enough for the boy to listen to reason, and while his head may be slow and dazed he could still remember what he and Ned learned one day during health class last year: That victims of hypothermia often go to sleep just before dying, and keeping them awake is absolutely vital for their survival. Peter was so utterly exhausted, but his will to survive far outweighed his desire for sleep. So he kept his eyes open and Ned or Tony nudged him awake when he began to nod off.

 

Peter tried to distract himself with anything he could. The teen hadn’t even noticed the blanket draped around his and Ned’s shoulders, nor the towel wrapped around their legs. He went over decathlon facts in his head, took note of their surroundings as they passed, listened intently to the conversation Tony and Happy were having, desperately clinging to consciousness.

 

“When I find these kids, I swear to god I’m gonna—“

 

“We can’t have you assaulting minors, Hap,” Tony reminded him. “Not without me.”

 

“W—What’re you gonna do?” Ned questioned softly, clearly still a little awestruck that he was in the presence of Tony Stark. His friend was doing much better than before, the heaters and blankets working wonders.

 

“Remember Fourth of July, ‘99?” Happy asked Tony. Peter felt the man nod above him and the teen buried his head further into his mentor’s chest. His calloused fingers carded their way through his curls absentmindedly as he seemed to recollect whatever events had transpired that night. “Ten times worse.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Tony spoke, amusement and vexation swirling within his voice. “They’re never going to have a future. This’ll be plastered all over their records. I’ll have them tried as adults, they won’t know what hit—“

 

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter murmured from below him.

 

“Don’t tell me you wanna protect them, Pete,” the man scolded. When the boy stayed silent he continued, “They left you in your underwear in a warehouse in _below freezing temperatures._ They kidnapped you, assaulted you,” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment creeping up his spine. He never should’ve let this happen in the first place. “And you were almost taken god knows where by a group of perverts. You can’t expect me to just let that go,” he fumed.

 

It wasn’t that Peter thought they shouldn’t face repercussions of punishment for their actions because that was a no brainer, but Pete still felt for some of them. Ray, whose only escape was basketball and had it ripped so suddenly from him. One of the other boys, Jerry, whose father was a known drunk and had one too many bottled emotions and has already faced more than any sixteen-year-old should. Of course, it isn’t an excuse, but the power and influence Tony has really would ensure that they would never be able to climb out of the hole they were trapped in. If nobody would hire Jerry, how could he get away from his father? If Ray was publicly deemed a monster how would he get a sufficient job to leave such a toxic household or get his mother help?

 

“Mr. Stark, sir?” Ned piped up. “I—I don’t think that’s what he’s trying to say,” Tony sighed. He knew what he meant. Peter understood the anger Tony felt. He knew May would feel it too, and she’d insist on joining them to assist with whatever replicating the Fourth of July meant.

 

“We’ll see,” Tony settled, pulling Peter’s still-shivering form closer. The boy felt a little less numb and could finally feel some warmth thawing his veins. As he leaned further into the billionaire he caught the fading scent of the man’s cologne. It wasn’t a designer and didn’t cost hundreds of dollars like a fragrance you’d expect a man of Tony Stark's caliber to wear. No, the hero’s cologne was a simple one bought annually from the Target on 34th. He always said that the expensive shit reminded him too much of his father. Of corporate meetings and soulless galas. Plus, in his opinion, all but the one he wore smelled like rotted leather. Pete agreed.

 

Peter took comfort in the familiar smell, finding it easier to stay awake as they neared the tower where the proper medical staff was waiting.

 

“ETA, three minutes,” Happy spoke. Ned gawked at the sight of Avengers Tower and Peter relaxed as the bright blue A filled him with reassurance.

 

“Hang in there, kid,” Tony whispered. Peter nodded in response, finding the man’s hand and squeezing it weakly. Tony squeezed it back when they rolled into the secluded parking garage where Bruce and a group of nurses were waiting with a pair of stretchers, heat blankets, and warmed IV bags. Peter could truly relax. They were finally safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Should I make a second part/bonus chapter of the aftermath so we can find out what happened on the July 4th, 1999? Recovery? Cuddles? I would have added it to this but it was already getting so long and I'm not sure if I should include it in the series, so let me know what you guys think or if you are happy with this ending !
> 
> Either way, I'll definitely have the next part posted within the week so keep your eyes peeled. Thanks so much for reading !!


	3. drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his best efforts, within seconds his mind began to fade. Peter’s vision started to dim and he blinked in a weak attempt to stay conscious because he knew if he blacked out, there was nothing preventing his body from breathing in the water.
> 
>  
> 
> But he kept fading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite whump tropes, I hope I did it justice!
> 
> Also, a quick disclaimer: I think this goes without saying but I am in no way a medical professional. I do extensive research on everything I can for my fics, however Google only goes so far so if there are ever any inaccuracies I do apologize !!

The people the media had dubbed as the _‘Rogue Avengers’_ were recently pardoned for reasons largely unknown. Not even Peter knew why, though upon questioning Tony about it the man tensed up prompting the teen to back off. He supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal and if the general public weren’t told why there’s no reason he should’ve been any different. However, now that they were all officially part of a team again, Pepper and T’Challa decided the previously divided group needed to start having so-called bonding sessions. The awkwardness and tension between everybody was impossible to ignore, or so Tony and Rhodey told Peter one night during a lab session. Pepper said that it couldn’t continue if they were to function normally on missions or in the battlefield, so she and (reluctantly) Tony organized a party set at the tower in typical Stark fashion.

 

To say Peter was nervous would be the understatement of the century.

 

When expressing his concern to May, she comforted him yet noted that he should turn those nerves into excitement. After all, it’s not every day you get to hang out with the _Avengers_. Of course she was right, and of course he was excited but that anticipation was a mere speck compared to the storm of anxiety swirling in the pool of his gut. What if he did something stupid? Said something embarrassing? What if they kicked him out because he was a kid or didn’t fit their standards of being a true hero.

 

What if they didn’t like him?

 

Some of those thoughts may have been irrational— He’s sure Tony wouldn’t let the teen leave his sight— but they filled Peter’s mind nonetheless. He didn’t even really want to go to the gathering, but his mentor insisted, saying that despite him turning down an official spot on the Avengers he was still as much a part of the team as everyone else and the other members would need to get used to him being around. Peter guessed Tony was right and agreed, also deciding it better than to mention the fact that he knew the billionaire largely wanted Pete there to keep him grounded as well as a source of comfort. But that went unspoken.

 

So here Peter and Happy sat, stuck in a sea of Manhattan traffic. His Spidey-Senses were off the charts but he figured it was just because of the claustrophobia that came with being stuck amidst a swarm of dozens of cars that finally caused his pent up anxiety to come loose.

 

Happy honked and let out a colorful bout of curses due to some jerk in front of them who had carelessly swerved into the wrong lane at the wrong time and almost caused a pile-up. Aggressively rolling down the window and sticking his head out he shouted, “Learn to use your turn signal, asshole!”

 

All the while, Peter was trying to keep down the cafeteria made pizza he’d had for lunch just hours prior. In an _hour_ they’d only managed to go three blocks. All this time sitting back against leather seating ensured his brain conjured up every possible embarrassing situation that could play out. That is, if they ever _got_ to the damn party.

 

The teenager sighed as Happy slouched back into the driver's seat, grumbling to himself. Pete rested his elbow against the edge of the window and set his jaw into his palm, subconsciously bouncing his leg up and down so fast that Happy needed to tell the boy to stop as it was shaking the entire vehicle. Over the course of the next ten minutes he continued to change positions, shifting from one to the next in a desperate attempt to find one that would somehow calm him and ease the buzzing in the nape of his neck that was growing more irritating and impossible to ignore by the minute.

 

“Can’t I just swing to the tower?” He finally asked before unbuckling his seatbelt, stretching his legs across the three back seats of the car, deciding that position made everything _much_ worse, and ultimately going back to a normal position again. Happy straightened before answering.

 

“Boss has strict orders that I not let you out of my sight until we get to the tower,” he adjusted the mirror to get a better view of Peter who was now biting his fingernails. “Besides, last I knew Tony’s still fixing up your suit from when you decided it was a good idea to take on a lunatic who could spit fire all by yourself,” Happy remarked. Peter sighed, eyeing the compartment in his backpack where his web-shooters were stashed.

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone out without the mask,” he mumbled, rolling down the window to breathe in some fresh air. A little girl skipped by with an Iron Man balloon. “Plus, I have superpowers. I can take care of myself.”

 

Peter could practically feel the eye roll radiating off Happy. “I’m not even going to bother telling you how stupid swinging around New York without your mask on is because I'm sure you’re well aware, but,” he gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “You know how people have been about the pardoning. Just this morning some nut job tried to pull Pepper into his car to get information out of her.”

 

Peter’s heart wrenched with concern. “Is she okay?”

 

“A little shaken, but fine. What I’m saying is, if anybody thinks you know anything because of your internship, you could be at real risk and Tony’s going to go to any lengths possible to prevent that. As am I,” The car moved a few feet forward before lurching to a stop again, an echo of honks reverberating throughout the avenue. “So if we have to sit here for another hour, so be it.”

 

Peter appreciated their concern, he really did. And he knew that Happy wasn’t one to express such feelings so openly and this was a serious situation but god, his spidey-sense was going haywire and everything was becoming too much too much too _much—_

 

So when a gloved hand smashed a crowbar into his temple through the window and a previously activated smoke grenade was tossed into the car, Peter couldn’t exactly say he was surprised.

 

———

 

Peter opened his eyes to his worn sneakers planted firmly on the familiarly pristine carpet of Happy’s black Sedan. The teen felt groggy, much like the time he woke up in the med bay after getting shot in his abdomen by some street thug trying to rob Sub Haven. His head was fuzzy and it took him a moment or two to realize the awkward position he was situated in— Zip tied to the chicken handle screwed to the roof of the car. His arms were hanging above him, bent ever-so-slightly and his head was hanging forward just short of resting against the front passenger's seat. Peter let out a quiet groan, lifting his head while he attempted to gather his bearings. He was in the same spot he was in when whoever it was hit him with that crowbar—

 

Shit.

 

His eyes snapped open, the boy now painfully aware of his surroundings. The car was nowhere near East 34th Street, instead parked by the docks of some old warehouse. The side of his head throbbed awfully as he turned his head to the left only to come face-to-face with a middle-aged man in a black hoodie grinning maliciously back. Peter started and backed up as far as he could against the door to put as much distance between himself and this cigar-smelling creep. One other man accompanied them in the car and was wearing a red ski mask, sat in the front seat while staring out at the sunset as if they hadn’t just kidnapped a sixteen-year-old kid.

 

“Peter Parker,” The man said casually with a Russian accent. “I heard you’re close with Stark, yes?”

 

Peter said nothing in response, only staring back with what he hoped were hard eyes. Showing fear and weakness would only prove to this man that he’d already gotten underneath Peter’s skin, and vulnerability was the last thing he needed. If Pete had any chance of outsmarting this guy and escaping unscathed he needed at least some remnants of the upper hand.

 

The sun was only just beginning to disappear over the horizon so it couldn’t have been long, which could be either a good or bad thing. They weren’t far from the city but it was too soon for anybody to have noticed their absence if word hadn’t gotten out already. Peter was unconscious before he could see whether or not these men made a scene of their kidnapping or did it as discreetly as they could, so either Iron Man was searching the skies and would be blasting these men into the Hudson within minutes, or Mr. Stark was waiting insouciantly for their arrival at the tower. Peter clenched his fists hard, just short of breaking skin. He was suddenly very aware of how uncomfortable having your arms hung above your head for so long was if the first twinges of muscle cramps were anything to go by.

 

When Peter still didn’t answer, the man sighed and picked up the crowbar from where it was set on the floor. Peter tensed as his kidnapper gripped the jagged end firmly, jabbing the rounded steel into his stomach. The boy wheezed and made an attempt to further back into the door, but was met with little success.

 

“When I ask a question,” he flipped his hold on the crowbar and prodded the pigfoot along the teen’s bobbing throat where he was still struggling to draw in a proper breath. “You answer. Capiche?”

 

Peter nodded and the man placed the tool gently into his lap, though it did little to relax the teen. He then leaned back casually against the opposite door with an unreadable expression plastered across his face, running his thumb against the polyester seatbelt absentmindedly.

 

“So, you’re close with Stark?” He asked again. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, finally having recovered from the violent blow before answering.

 

“You could say that,” it came out less shaky than he thought it would, and the boy felt a mini-surge of confidence. “What the hell do you want?”

 

His abductor huffed a laugh at his nerve before sitting up straight and tipping forwards again. He clasped his hands together, staring at them for a moment before looking directly at Peter. “I want to know why that scum was pardoned.”

 

His heart dropped. God, Happy was right. Happy was right and Peter didn’t take him seriously and now he was zip tied in the back of a car with two strangers who probably had every intention of hurting him for this information. He should be by Tony’s side right now, laughing off awkward conversations with unfamiliar members of the team but instead he was being threatened by some crazy Russian dude and his eerily silent friend.

 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me—“

 

“Bullshit!” The man shrieked, making Peter flinch. “I am not interested in being here for long. I am not interested in hurting you. Just tell me what I want and I will release you,” his voice got lower, “but I _will_ do what I have to in order to get what I am looking for. Easy or hard way, you choose.”

 

“Look, I’m just an intern. I’m not cleared to receive that kind of information!” He reasoned. The man only grew more irritated, twisting his body to unlock the door. He shoved it open with a grunt and motioned for his accomplice to do the same, muttering a quick word that Peter didn’t quite pick up on.

 

“Fine,” he announced, slamming the door while the ski mask-clad man shifted the gears and fiddled with the gas below the steering wheel. “Hard way it is.” His accomplice appeared to finish whatever he was setting up and glanced over his shoulder at the Russian man who gave a nod. He yanked something harshly, took several swift steps backward, and the tires began screeching. The car remained in place for a moment as it struggled to gain traction and once it did the car sped forward, momentum pushing Peter up against the back of the seat as the vehicle rolled off of the dock and into the river below.

 

For a second Peter did nothing, shock and confusion clouding his thinking. But then the car began to sink faster than it should have as water poured into the car through wide holes drilled into the floor beneath the seats that Peter had failed to notice beforehand and he began to panic. Within seconds the car was already submerged halfway under the surface and the water pooling in the car reached Pete’s ankles.

 

“Rethink your decision, Peter,” The man’s voice sounded through a mini-speaker that was haphazardly taped to the ceiling of the car just short of the windshield. “I’ll gladly rescue you, but only if I get what I want.”

 

Peter clenched his fists in annoyance and fright, “I’m telling you the _truth_ ,” he insisted. “I don’t know anything!”

 

The teen’s breathing began to pick up and he desperately tried to keep it under control as the car was now fully submerged. He didn’t want to waste the limited air supply he may have and spiraling into a full-blown panic attack definitely wouldn’t help.

 

“Give me an answer,” the criminal said firmly. “The car’s filling up quick, is it not?” Peter clenched his jaw because yes, it absolutely was. It was pooling above his knees and creeping up towards his abdomen. At this rate he’d be completely under in less than a minute.

 

“You have to believe me, they didn’t tell me anything!” He shouted, mind scrambling for something he could say to get him out of this. “I— I can get it for you!” He tried. “I was on my way to see him earlier, just let me see Mr. Stark and I’ll convince him to tell me!”

 

“So you can get him to swaddle you with protection? So you can rat me out? I don’t think so,” he spoke. The ice-cold water lapped just below Peter’s neck, and he snapped the cuffs apart without care. There weren’t any camera’s visible and he needed to _get out_. “Last chance, _ребенок_ ,” he spat. “Why where they pardoned?”

 

Peter began slamming the window as hard as he could, his final response punctuated with each punch to the glass, “I. Don’t. _Know!_ ” The liquid that now came to his chin was substantially hindering the force of his hits, not to mention the fact the Tony had modified the windows to be _bulletproof_ didn’t help his case. But he kept going regardless, striking the pane with all his might.

 

While doing so the boy distantly heard the two men conversing over the speaker before the Russian man announced, “I believe you. In that case, I have no further use for you,” Peter’s heart dropped.

 

“No,” he muttered. The teen now had to tilt his head upwards to keep it above the surface of the water, his forehead resting against the ceiling of the car. “No! Come back!” He pleaded. “Please, don’t leave me here!” But it was useless. He was soaked head-to-toe and was about to drown if he didn’t break this damned glass. So he squeezed his eyes shut, took in the deepest breath he could muster, and allowed the water to engulf him.

 

The silence that followed was excruciating. Compared to the fast-paced sound of water rushing in, his panicked huffing filling the air, and the crackling of his abductor’s voice over that speaker, the complete and utter lack of noise was disturbing.

 

People always said drowning was the most peaceful way to go. Peter never understood that statement. He had never drowned, but it looked anything but peaceful and judging by the ache of his lungs that were screaming at him to take a breath, his inevitable demise would be agonizing. It was only then that he understood what they were talking about— the peacefulness was breathtaking ( _What an ironic choice of words_ , Peter thought bitterly). It wasn’t that he was at peace because God, was he far from it, however even as his mind scrambled and fell apart in his struggle to survive it was oddly… serene.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

 

The boy quickly shook that thought from his head, berating himself for almost giving up so quickly. How could he say that? How could he have thought of leaving everything behind, even for a second? Peter had his whole life ahead of him. Who would build LEGO sets with Ned, answer all the physics questions during decathlon meets? Tony wouldn’t handle his loss well, the man’s liver would probably give out as he tried to drink away the guilt. And God, _May_. She’s lost everything and Peter would be damned if that woman had to lose him too.

 

Peter suddenly felt a surge of anger, at himself, at the men who took him, the rogue avengers, the government, at Mr. Stark for making this fucking glass so assuredly impenetrable. He hit harder than before, not caring that his knuckles had split open and stained the water a murky crimson.

 

 _Come on_ , he thought. _Break. Break. Break!_

 

Just as the teen’s strength began wearing thin and his hope began to dwindle once again, the smallest of cracks appeared where the window was slightly smeared with blood. His lungs and muscles burned like hell but he wasn’t going to give up now. Peter grit his teeth and drove his fist into the pane again. He never thought the sound of glass giving in could be so sweet.

 

The fractures in the pane spread further, resembling a spider’s web more and more with each hit. Just a few more, he was almost there and—

 

Peter’s fist smashed through the window and the shards scattered into the liquid around him, a few pieces getting caught in his knuckles. But the teen didn’t notice and he pushed himself through the opening as hard as he could, longing for the surface that seemed so close yet so far. In his desperation, Peter didn’t spot the pointed, jagged edges of broken glass that remained attached to the frame of the window. It wasn’t until he came to an abrupt halt that he looked down and pain overcame him in a harrowing wave.

 

One of the remaining shards had caught onto the boy’s pant leg, slicing through the fabric and into the skin of his ankle. It dug into him like a fishing hook, anchoring him to the car. Peter couldn’t help but let out a shout of pain, eyes going wide and mouth snapping shut when he realized that _shit_ , that was all of his air. Suddenly the pain in his ankle didn’t seem so bad as his lungs started to spasm with the need for air the sudden absence of it. Peter bent down, pulling at the glass shard itself because it was stuck into him at too awkward of an angle for him to take it out on his own. The glass needed to come with him, but damn this reinforced car because it wasn’t coming loose. He was thrashing now as his muscles and mind went into one final fit of hysteria in a last-ditch attempt to get free. Little did Peter know that by doing so he was only embedding the shard further into his ankle but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t breathe, he needed to breathe, needed to breathe, _needed to the breathe._

 

Eventually Peter’s movements began to slow down, his grip on the object going slack as he subconsciously focused all attention on not taking a breath. His chest rose and fell as his body’s instincts took over, not caring whether he would breathe in water or not. But Peter refused to open his mouth, he couldn’t. For Ned, for MJ, for Happy and Tony and May.

 

Despite his best efforts, within seconds his mind began to fade. Peter’s vision started to dim and he blinked in a weak attempt to stay conscious because he knew if he blacked out, there was nothing preventing his body from breathing in the water.

 

But he kept fading.

 

Even when a set of burly arms somehow detached his ankle from the glass, wrapping around his middle and pulling him towards the surface he continued to evanesce. Distantly he registered them getting closer to the evening sunlight, closer to air that he could safely breathe in.

 

But he had held it for so long. He couldn’t hold back any longer. His mind was slipping, his vision was dissolving into nothingness and he no longer had control.

 

Water filled his lungs.

 

He took a breath.

 

———

 

“Chill out, Stark.”

 

Tony whipped around, staring Sam Wilson down with a death glare that could intimidate even the most hardened criminals. “ _‘Chill out’_?” Tony fumed, taking a step towards him. Rhodey set his drink down at the bar and made his way towards the scene. “They were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago. Neither of them are returning my calls, I can’t track their phones or the car they took, and you expect me to chill out?”

 

“Tones, hey,” Rhodes crossed a hand over his friend's chest, guiding him away from where Sam had a hand placed threateningly over his wristwatch. The man appeared a moment away from summoning Redwing and Tony a second away from calling a suit. This definitely wasn’t the vibe they had aimed for when planning a team bonding party. “Stand down. Starting a fight with Wilson won’t help anyone,” Tony grumbled, relaxing his fists and turning the other way to follow Rhodey to the bar. “I’m sure they just got stuck in a traffic jam. Happens all the time.”

 

“I took that into account, Rhodes,” He politely declined a drink from the bartender and leaned against the counter, “Even _with_ traffic they should have been here a long time ago,” the man picked up a generous amount of pecan cheese wafers from a platter and scarfed them down. Stress eating wouldn’t help anyone either but hey, old habits die hard. Rhodes began to say something again but Tony tuned him out, staring at the double doors as if Happy would come stumbling through them with Peter safely in arms any second.

 

And they did.

 

Well, minus the ‘safely’ part.

 

The pair burst through the doors, startling everybody on the team so effectively they all went into their respective fighting stances. Happy and Peter were drenched head-to-toe, the older man out of breath, completely supporting the younger one who seemed to barely be breathing at all. In a blur, Tony sprinted towards the two as the head of security halfheartedly plopped Peter onto the ground. The boy stayed down, not moving an inch even when Tony appeared by his side.

 

“Hap, what the hell happened?” Tony yelled, taking Peter’s head in his lap. There was a half-healed gash at his temple and the boy’s eyes were closed. His mouth was parted and skin white as a sheet, breathing gravelly and short. “Bruce, get your ass over here! Friday, prep the med team,” the billionaire ordered. Banner appeared on the other side of Peter less than a second later, assessing him as best he could. Tony was now focused on the hideous wound in the kid’s ankle that was bleeding profusely, and the man wondered how long it had been since he'd sustained the injury. How much blood had he lost? How did he get a cut like that? Why were they so wet, and why did Peter’s breathing sound like his throat had been put through a meat grinder? Seeing as the teen was unconscious the only person who could answer these question was Happy, whom Rhodey was surveying.

 

Tony jumped up, hesitant to leave Peter’s side but trusting Bruce to take care of him and desperate to know what the hell happened. Rhodes seemed to have sat Happy down in a nearby chair, the man staring straight ahead with a frightfully bloody nose Tony previously failed to notice. The colonel was quietly coaxing him as the billionaire approached.

 

“He’s unresponsive,” Rhodes said before Tony got the chance to speak. “Either someone drugged him or he’s got one hell of a concussion.”

 

By now the rest of the team had gathered around the scene, some doing what they could to help, others not sure what that was and just watching. Wilson and a few others had already raced up to the Med Bay to help the nursing staff since most were off because of the party and Bruce was continuing to look over Peter with the assistance of Rogers. Tony would be lying if the idea of Steve being there instead of him didn’t make him feel a surge of protectiveness and hostility, but logically he knew he was only helping and if Tony wanted to do the same he needed to get answers.

 

“Unresponsive?” Tony questioned rhetorically. “Hap, come on. What happened? Why do you two look like you just took a cat dive into the Hudson?” The man didn’t answer, staring straight through Tony. The man would’ve kept trying but Bruce’s next words sent ice through the man’s heart.

 

“He’s got water in his lungs!” He shouted, “We need to get him to the Med Bay, _now!_ ”

 

All thoughts of questioning Happy were wiped from Tony’s mind. The next few minutes were a complete blur. Steve and T’Challa helped carefully but quickly carry Peter down to the medical ward until the nurses met them halfway with a pair of stretchers. Nat and Rhodes handed Happy off, two nurses helping him while the rest focused on Peter, hooking the boy up to wires and checking his vitals as they wheeled him into a room.

 

“Prep him for thoracentesis,” Bruce instructed. Tony didn’t have any clue as to what that procedure was but judging by the size of the needle a nurse he knew by the name of Zenia whipped out, it was nothing good.

 

“Woah— Jesus, Bruce, what the hell—?” Tony began to ramble but was cut off by Banner’s hand. He was highly focused as he typically was while working and hated distractions, but this was his kid and Tony demanded to know what was going on and what they were about to do to him. Bruce sighed before looking him in the eye and giving him a rundown.

 

“Peter has water in his lungs. We aren’t sure how much but we need to get it out and the only way to do that quickly and efficiently is by inserting a needle into the thorax and draining it from there into a bag. He’s sustained other injuries but none are life-threatening and if we don’t clear his lungs we could be facing organ failure because his blood isn’t being properly oxygenated,” he spoke carefully as the nurses worked together to lift Peter into a sitting position, remove his dampened sweater and lean him against the over-bed table so his back was bent and exposed. His skin was ghostly pale and the way his torso just barely rose and fell made Tony sick. Bile rose in his throat at the sight and he turned away before it could make him vomit. The man still didn’t know what happened, but after the stunt that lowlife pulled with Pepper he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the accords. If he was right and Peter suffered because of _that_ …

 

“Tony,” Bruce spoke softly, slipping latex gloves on. “You’ve got the best medical team on the East Coast. Let us do our job, alright? He’ll be fine.”

 

Tony prayed he was right.

 

———

 

If there was one thing Tony never wanted to witness again, it was a goddamn thoracentesis. Maybe it was the fact that it was being performed on Peter of all people, but sickening squelch of the syringe puncturing his lung was unexpected and completely revolting. If that wasn’t enough, watching murky fluid leak out of his body through a tube and into a waiting plastic bag was almost just as bad. The amount of water was more than they’d anticipated, calling for them to switch out the collection pouch once for each lung. The procedure as a whole didn’t take very long but it was borderline traumatizing for Tony nonetheless, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get the image of the kid bent over the table with two needles poking into his lungs out of his head for days to come. He’d never been so grateful the teen was unconscious.

 

Tony guessed Rhodes or Friday had called May because not long after it was over the woman was bursting through the doors of the room and jogging towards her unconscious nephew. Joining Tony’s side the woman, who was still clad in her own nursing scrubs, held her hand up to her mouth and let out a soft gasp.

 

“Baby, what did they do to you?” She whispered, clearly wanting nothing more than to comfort him but stayed put, knowing better than anyone that Bruce and the nurses needed to do their jobs.

 

A few of Peter’s knuckles were fractured on each hand and fifteen minutes were spent painstakingly picking glass shards from the cuts on both, a clear indication that there was a struggle. The gash on his ankle looked like a stab wound but upon closer inspection was too sloppy and torn much too awkwardly to have been caused by a knife. The best they could do was treat it and wait until he or Happy woke up to ask what happened.

 

It wasn’t for another hour and a half when they completed dressing Peter’s injuries and treating Happy that the older man finally became coherent and responsive. Bruce was called into the room and Tony followed, knowing Peter was in safe enough hands with his aunt.

 

They entered Happy’s room across the hall, the billionaire very surprised to see him already sitting up and talking to the nurse.

 

“Is the kid okay?” Happy was asking repeatedly. The nurse opened her mouth to respond but when the bodyguard caught sight of Tony and Bruce he completely disregarded her, almost jumping out of bed. The two men pushed him back down delicately, reprimanding him for being so careless.

 

“Jesus, Hap, do you have a death wish?” Tony said. The man had his head bandaged, nose also wrapped as it had been severely broken. Getting up so fast was a sure-fire way to collapse and hit his already fractured skull on the ground.

 

“Peter, is he—? I tried to— but they were— I’m so sorry,” he stumbled over his words, looking on the verge of tears. It caught Tony off guard. He’d never seen the man so vulnerable and emotional.

 

“Peter will be fine,” Bruce cut in. Happy sagged with relief, closing his eyes and sinking into the sheets. “Happy, can you tell us what happened?” The doctor asked gently.

 

“Oh my god,” Happy muttered under his breath, vigorously rubbing his face before meeting Tony’s eyes with the most undeniably apologetic look he’d ever seen. “We were on our way to the tower,” he started, looking down. “We were stuck in traffic, stopped beside an alleyway. They came up and threw some kind of gas in. I got out before breathing it all in but Peter was already out cold in the backseat. They dragged me into the alley and—“ he stopped, eyebrows furrowing as he concentrated on trying to remember the following events. “I guess they hit my head pretty hard. Everything else is there in bits and pieces. I remember they took the car, they disabled the tracking device and tossed out his phone but the kid had those spider tracer doohickies in his bag. I think I used those to find him. I’m not so sure how I got there, but I know that they brought him to the docks and drove the car into the water with— with Peter in it,” Tony grit his teeth. _Oh_. “I knocked those bastard’s out and dove after him. Everything else up until ten minutes ago is gone. I dunno why I didn’t call for backup, I’m so sorry, Tony. It should have never happened in the—“

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You did just fine, Hap. The kid’s alive and he’s going to be okay, all thanks to you. It’s not your fault some lunatics went after Peter."

 

“Exactly. And with the damage done to your head, it’s a wonder you’re conscious now, much less able to accomplish all that. When you came in it was like you were in a trance, your brain must have been focused on getting Peter to the safest place possible, which is here,” Bruce nodded, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “Like Tony said, you did a fantastic job. Now _rest_. Let your body recover. And don’t make me sedate you,” he warned, pointing a finger at the bodyguard. “Again.”

 

Happy raised in hands in defense, “Don’t worry, doc. I think I could sleep for the next century.”

 

With that problem settled, Tony returned to Peter’s side and got started on the next one— apprehending the numbskulls who caused this problem in the first place. The billionaire tracked down the car just as Happy had, locating the spider-tracers with ease. He notified the authorities and Rhodey suited up to deal with any _problems_ they may encounter and, as May put it, give them “a good clobbering”. Not too long after leaving the tower Tony was notified that the two men were in custody and if the bruised and bloody mugshots were anything to go by, Rhodes kept up on his promise. Apparently they had some vendetta against Cap and his entourage, but as long as the two were no longer a threat Tony couldn’t give two shits what their reasoning was. There was no excuse for kidnapping a child, especially one as innocent and undeserving as Peter.

 

Speaking of, the kid didn’t wake up until early the next morning. Four, to be exact, but it wasn’t like anyone got much sleep anyways. It was fairly touch-and-go all night since they could only estimate how long Peter was breathing with liquid in his lungs, so the extent of damage was TBD. His organs were working fine however if his blood wasn’t sufficiently oxygenated, there was a high chance of brain damage and it was almost impossible to tell while unconscious. So when he woke up so soon, it was a major relief for everybody.

 

The boy awoke and immediately tensed up, only relaxing when his eyes landed on May and Tony. He squeezed his eyes shut and winced in discomfort.

 

“How you feeling, bud?” Tony asked, pressing the call button. May smiled down at her nephew, running her fingers through his hair.

 

“My chest feels like it got rammed by a truck,” he croaked. Tony and May both grimaced at the teen’s voice. It was hellishly thick and raspy, somewhat reminding the billionaire of how he sounded following the abysmal waterboarding in Afghanistan. The man shook the thought from his head before his mind got lost in that dark place, but the comparison struck sorrow into his heart. The thought of Peter going through something as dreadful and vile as drowning sickened the man.

 

“Yes, that’s expected,” Bruce announced as he entered the room, accompanied by nurse Zenia. “Do you feel any abnormalities outside of the discomfort?” He asked, suddenly leaning over him and shining a penlight in the teen’s eyes.

 

“Woah, Doctor Banner, I—“

 

“Are you dizzy? Trouble breathing? Any pain? Can you tell me your full name and date of birth?” Peter obliged, but seemed very uncomfortable at being poked and prodded so promptly after awakening. “Open,” Bruce commanded, sticking a thermometer under the boy’s tongue. While he waited and Zenia took his pulse and blood pressure at the same time, Pete glanced over at his aunt with narrowed eyes. She in turn looked up at Tony, a silent exchange that told him to get Banner to lay off.

 

“Bruce, could we just— give him a little space, please?” Tony spoke. The thermometer beeped and though the doctor looked less than satisfied, but nevertheless nodded at Zenia who gathered the vitals cart and wheeled it out. “Thank you.”

 

“I think that’s the first time Mr. Stark has told somebody to _stop_ fussing over me,” Peter remarked. Tony rolled his eyes, however felt very much relieved now that Pete was cracking jokes.

 

“So, no brain damage then?” May asked hopefully.

 

“Doesn’t appear to be,” Bruce responded, removing his glasses. “Do you want to ask him some questions, Tony?”

 

The billionaire sighed, grabbing hold of Peter’s hand. The teen’s skin was still ice-cold and the man felt a sudden urge to wrap him in every blanket the tower owned. “What do you remember about the attack, Pete?”

 

The small grin the boy had disappeared from his face and his eyes downcast, grip on Tony’s fingers tightening ever-so-slightly as he seemed to recall the events of the previous night. He opened his mouth once before clamping it shut again, repeating that action three times before finally speaking.

 

“We were on our way to the party,” he said, eyes trained on the tube that led to his nasal cannula. “My spider-sense was ringing like crazy, but I figured it was just nerves. Then somebody cracked a crowbar into the side of my head and threw these gas thingies in. I blacked out after that.”

 

“And then?” Bruce urged.

 

“I woke up in the back on the car handcuffed to the handlebar on the ceiling. There was a Russian man and some guy with a ski-mask on. The Russian one asked me why Mr. Rogers and his friends were pardoned, but he didn’t believe me when I told him no and— and set the car to drive into the river,” May squeezed Peter’s wrist reassuringly when he hesitated. “Um, they kept asking through a speaker while the water was filling up the car through holes they must’ve drilled before I woke up. Eventually they believed me but it was already up to my chin and they just— _left_ me there. I started punching the glass,” he glanced over his bandaged knuckles, taking in a long, deep breath as if the room would fill with water any second. “But they’re bulletproof and the water had filled the car so it was even harder. I— I kept going even when it hurt but it got so hard to hold my breath and oh my god, May, I thought I was going to _die_ down there,” a few tears pricked at the boy’s eyes but he pushed them back, squeezing his eyes shut as his aunt engulfed him in a hug. Tony very gently clasped his hand a little tighter as he continued to recount the story into May’s shoulder.

 

“The thought of you guys kept me going. I broke the window but I guess a piece of glass was still stuck in the framing because it caught on my ankle and trapped me there. I couldn’t get it out and started to black out but— somebody saved me? Was it…?”

 

“Happy,” Tony finished. “He brought you here. Crashed our party. Which was going _egregiously_ without you, might I add.”

 

May pulled away and Peter let out a small giggle. Tony loved and hated it because it filled him with love and affection but at the same time reminded the man of just how small and young the boy was. Those men had just left him there to _drown_. God, as soon as he could Tony swore he would fly straight to whatever station they were being held at and deliver a beating twice that of Rhodey’s.

 

But for now the kid needed him, and he wouldn’t leave his side until he was bouncing off the walls, rambling on about the newest version of web fluid he’d brainstormed or latest news on the upcoming Star Wars film.

 

“So,” Peter asked after Bruce completed all the required tests and they’d settled in with some oh-so-tasty ice chips. “Why _was_ Mr. Rogers pardoned?”

 

Tony sighed. All this trouble for something so small and insignificant. The UN was planning on announcing everything in the coming days but for some bullshit legal reasons and to “prevent panic” they couldn’t tell the public that. Clearly, it only caused further hysteria and drove people to attempt to kidnap and succeed in kidnapping Stark Industries personnel. Tony would be having a lengthy word with whoever’s idea it was to hold off on sharing the information, legalities be damned.

 

Wouldn’t hurt to tell the kid now, would it?

 

“It’s a long story…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading !! As always, please feel free to leave some feedback :)
> 
> Also about that recovery chapter, I know most of you wanted it but I have so many more stories to tell and feel it’s better suited as a bonus chapter at the end of the work! So it’s definitely coming, just have patience haha. 
> 
> Love you all !! <3
> 
> (P.S. writing badass savior Happy was so fun, I think we can all agree we need more of him and I am going to DELIVER!)


	4. burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no number, is there? You double-crossed me, you insolent brat!” She released him and delivered a painful backhand to the teen, his head snapping to the side with the force of the hit. A small cut formed where her ring had connected with his cheek. “Stark will be blowing this place to hell within five minutes, we’ll never get away in time,” she spoke to the men behind Peter, sauntering towards the table. She retrieved a much more menacing-looking bottle than the one before, much larger and a whole lot darker, then tossed it to her accomplice. “Might as well teach him a decent lesson before he does.”

“When we see the kid, we’ll get him with the bat.”

 

God, could Peter ever catch a break? The _one_ day he decided to take the afternoon off, treat himself with a nice stroll to get some fresh air and decompress, the universe decides to throw him another fast one.

 

The men’s voices carried through an open hatch and out of the back of a bodega to where Peter was standing in line for a cheap street vendor, the teen’s enhanced senses quickly picking up on the nervous shuffling of their feet and timid voices planning an attack. It’d gone on for the entire five minutes he was standing there and from the sound of it, these guys were serious. They were to kidnap some kid and drop him off at a remote location for an employer. Of course, Pete wasn’t about to let that happen so he paid for his food and scarfed it down, proceeding to head towards the alley that the bodega exit let into. His suit was hugging his skin beneath the blue sweater and grey pants he’d decided to wear that morning, mask stuffed in his jacket pocket.

 

As the boy shrugged his coat off, beginning to undo the first buckle of his belt he heard the voices behind the door become frantic, various zippers sliding and the clank of guns and metal audible. Peter paused from his spot behind the dumpster when one of the men huffed out, “You sure that’s him?”

 

_Him?_

 

Before he could even begin to ponder his next move his spidey-sense blared in warning just as a bat was forcefully swung into his temple, sending him to the ground with spots floating in his vision.

 

“Who…?” Peter breathed and brought up his hand to the wound, wincing upon contact. How had someone gotten the jump on him so easily? Weren’t they all inside?

 

Through blurred eyes he saw the other men burst out of the door with weapons at the ready, all clad in the same navy tracksuits and ski masks. _These guys really_ are _rookies,_ Pete’s mind supplied worthlessly. He struggled to his knees only to be knocked back down by one of the other guys’ bats slamming into his back. His cheek hit the damp asphalt with a quiet smack as the breath was stolen from his lungs.

 

“Stay down, punk,” the first man spat, securing the teen’s arms behind his back with handcuffs. “This’ll be a whole lot easier if you just cooperate,” Peter could have scoffed. _Yeah, right._ Nevertheless he remained on the ground, knowing that he couldn’t make a move yet. Whether or not these guys were after Spider-Man or Peter Parker was up in the air but at the chance it was the latter he couldn’t risk exposure. No scrawny teenager could take out a group of criminals armed with baseball bats and guns. Spider-Man for sure, but not Peter.

 

A few moments later a vehicle pulled into the alley and stopped, side door opening most likely for Peter. Before being hauled to his feet one of the criminals gave Pete a hard smack on the back of his skull, hard enough to worsen the head-splitting pain from the bat but not enough to fully knock him out.

 

They shoved the boy’s unresisting form into one of the middle seats, the rest of the men clamoring in after him. It was a minivan, of all things, riddled with trash and smelling of skunk. Within seconds they were speeding out of the alley so fast it could’ve given Peter whiplash.

 

“Is he under?” The driver asked.

 

“Nope,” Peter answered. All heads snapped in his direction, the boy slouched in the beer-stained chair uncomfortably. His hands remained restrained behind his back, arms beginning to fall asleep so he adjusted to a more comfortable position. He noted their wide eyes and surprised expressions. “What, you think is my first brush with kidnapping? What is it this time?” He let out a fake gasp of excitement. “Wait, wait, let me guess: Money?”

 

“We were hired by some lady to get you to her, no questions asked,” The man who’d first hit him replied. “Don’t know or care why, it’s just our job.”

 

“And how long have you been doing this so-called ‘job’ for, a week?” He jabbed, looking around. “Allow me to give you some advice. This is clearly _your_ car if the trash and profound smell of weed is anything to go by— Seriously, lay off the stuff, guys. It’s not good for you— so it’ll be easily identifiable. Your second mistake is the method of extraction. Leaving behind evidence is a huge no-no when abducting someone, and both my jacket _and_ blood are still sitting in that alley,” Peter’s eye caught his empty wrist which poked out from behind his back. “Also my watch, apparently.” _So much for the panic button,_ Peter thought. In hindsight, he probably should’ve activated it as soon as he suspected something was up with these guys. A few of the men shifted uncomfortably at the truth of his words and Pete felt a small surge of triumph.

 

“You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t ya?” He heard before a needle was plunged into his neck. Peter jerked backward but it was too late, the threateningly red liquid already circulating through his bloodstream.

 

“What— What did you just—?”

 

“A heavy sedative to shut you up,” The man holding the needle said. Peter’s eyelids suddenly felt as if they were weighed down by two-ton cinder blocks. He blinked a few times in an attempt to fight it, watching as everything around him began to droop.

 

“Let it happen, kid.” Was the last thing he heard before giving in.

 

What happened next was quite strange. He wasn’t sure how much time passed or how many miles they traveled, drifting in and out of consciousness constantly. His metabolism was fighting like a champ but whatever shit they put in there was winning. He would sometimes hear everything that went on for the minute but wasn’t able to open his eyes. Other times Peter _would_ open his eyes, but it was as if his entire body was paralyzed. He could not speak, hear, or register anything that happened other than the fact he was awake. It wasn’t until two sets of burly arms wrapped around him that he finally fought through it. Dazed still, but able to register what was happening.

 

They had stopped somewhere surrounded by trees, so Pete figured they had to be pretty far from the city. A cozy-looking cabin rested in front of where they’d parked, which must’ve been the remote location they previously referred to.

 

The men carried him onto the porch and inside the cabin, undoing the cuffs and instead strapping him into a chair much too tight. Peter then lifted his groggy head with great effort to get a good look around.

 

The place was empty save for a table on the far end of its single room, though it was shrouded in darkness preventing Peter from seeing whatever horrors most likely lay there. He took it as a small mercy and watched as the men all but marched out of the cabin, leaving him alone.

 

It was only then that the gravity of the situation truly hit Peter. He had to be hours from home, no way of contacting anybody or calling for help. Though he was sure Tony and May would notice quickly that he wasn’t back from his walk and start a citywide manhunt, the teen was still in immense danger. Whoever this lady was obviously wanted something from him and if Peter’s previous experience was anything to go by, it was nothing good. He was strapped to a cold metal chair with a mystery drug still in his system that hindered his abilities, rendering the boy about as strong as he was before the bite. His back ached painfully from earlier’s blow and _jesus_ his head still killed him. Until Iron Man came bursting through the ceiling, he was royally screwed.

 

It wasn’t for another twenty minutes filled with fruitless struggling that the door opened and three people stepped inside— Two men with builds to challenge that of the Hulk and a woman in dress pants sporting a matching burgundy blazer. Her slim form stopped a few feet in front of where Pete sat while the men stood on either side of the boy, muscular arms crossed.

 

“Listen, this is all very flattering but—“

 

“You have something I need, Mr. Parker,” she interrupted. “And I’m not afraid to use the means required to get that if you are unwilling, so tread carefully.” Peter actually did scoff this time, trying to shove down the fear that bubbled in his chest.

 

“Like I haven’t heard that a thousand times,” the boy disparaged. “Whatever you want, I’m sure I don’t have it. Ask the last three guys who kidnapped me, I’m just an intern.”

 

“An intern with the same level of clearance as Tony Stark’s lifelong friends and fiancée,” She spoke with a hint of malice, taking a few steps closer. “Cooperate, or I’ll make you.”

 

“Go ahead, lay it on me,” Peter sighed. Pretending to be calm definitely wasn’t making him so.

 

“The access code to his armory. What is it?” The woman asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Peter let out a huff of laughter.

 

“You think I’ve got _that?_ I may have high clearance, but Mister Stark isn’t dumb enough to give a teenager access to Iron Man suits,” he spoke. It was a lie. He did know the access code for the armory because that’s where _his_ suits and gadgets were stored as well. Plus, Tony trusted that Peter wouldn’t parade around Manhattan in the Mark 31 suit for fun. He knew him better than that, but this woman didn’t.

 

“What is the access code to Tony Stark’s armory?” She asked again, unwavering.

 

“I’m serious, if I had that you would have heard about it by now. _Iron Man Robs Local Bank, Donates Stolen Money To Humane Society_ ,” he joked. His false smirk faded as she closed the distance between them, setting her hands on his bound wrists and leaning her full weight on them. Her face was inches from his and he winced at the pressure.

 

“Last chance, Parker. The access codes, or your head.”

 

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Peter answered. She stayed in that position for a moment longer, eyes boring holes into his before letting up and motioning for her men to get whatever was on that table. As they prepared it she spoke.

 

“Over the years I’ve found traditional interrogation methods less and less appealing. Cutting into someone starts to prove ineffective, as does electrocution and beatings,” she paced back in forth, twisting the black ring around her finger. “That’s what you expected to deal with when you decided to refuse me the information, correct?”

 

“I—“

 

“After years of torturing I discovered a select few things that differed from classic ways but almost never failed to get me what I want, no matter how hardened the victim claimed to be,” the men emerged with a cloth and a long bottle filled with something he couldn’t make out. “I think you’ll come to agree with me.” Before Peter could answer one of the men grabbed both sides of his head and yanked it violently back so he was staring at the ceiling. The lightbulb that hung from above blinded the teen for a moment and he was almost not able to snap his mouth shut before the bottle was shoved between his lips. The lady tsked. “You’re only delaying the inevitable, Peter,” she spoke, squeezing his nose shut with her fingers.

 

With all airways blocked the boy began to struggle harder against the restraints, wishing his metabolism would just work faster and return him to his normal strength. Peter tried to shake his head away but the man’s giant hands stayed steady, keeping it firmly in place.

 

He kept this up for as long as he could but his body’s need for oxygen was far too strong and his mouth snapped back open against his will, the man quick to shove the bottle into the open space.

 

Immediately Peter’s eyes watered and he gagged, the realization of what she had in store for him suddenly abundantly clear. Globs of hot sauce slid down his throat, burning his tongue with a stunning efficacy that only worsened as the torture went on. Soon it had him thrashing in his restraints as his mind desperately tried to get away from the agonizing sensation. It was like his entire body from the waist up was on fire and he was slowly getting burned alive. He couldn’t even _scream_ , his airway instinctually blocked to compensate for what felt like pints getting forced into his stomach. Peter couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t _feel_. It was like the entire universe outside of this room disappeared and left him to suffer an eternity of this torment.

 

After what felt like centuries, just as it seemed his body was ready to shut down and gift him with unconsciousness, they pulled away. He desperately sucked in breaths of air as fat tears from both the pain and the spiciness rolled down his cheeks. The boy panted, mouth hanging open like a spent dog to try and bring some kind of coolness upon his tongue. The air was just short of room temperature, but compared to the blaze inside of his mouth it was ice-cold.

 

“It didn’t have to be this way, Peter,” he heard the woman speak over his choked off sob. Pete cringed at how pathetic he was acting, but couldn’t find it in himself at the moment to truly care. “And you can stop the pain now if you just give me what I want.”

 

Once the boy somewhat gathered himself he glared up at his abductor before making a resolve. He shut his eyes as he spoke, “There—There’s a phone number,” he began, voice hoarse. The woman immediately perked up.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Mister Stark set it up in case one of us forgot a code and he wasn’t around. One of his A.I.’s lists off each individually, the one you’re looking for has to be in there somewhere,” he finished. The woman looked skeptical for a moment and Peter held his breath, letting it out when she pulled a phone from her pocket. He gave her the number and she impatiently typed the numbers in as he spoke.

 

“It’s voice activated,” he said before she could hit the call button. “There’s an authentication process you’re required to bypass before it lists them off,” the boy swallowed, immediately regretting it as the remnants of hot sauce on his tongue were reignited. The lady huffed and held the device up to his ear as it rang, giving him a look that warned him not to try anything. Halfway through the second ring, it picked up.

 

“...Kid?” His mentor spoke, worry evident in his tone.

 

“Peter Parker, requesting access codes,” Peter said. He heard the distant clanking of a metal suit on the other end.

 

This number was one Tony had set up following Peter’s second kidnapping in the event that it should happen again. This was the first time he’d had the chance to utilize the number and he could only hope those few sessions Tony set up designed to help him deal better with future abductions would pay off.

 

“Do you know who and what you’re calling for?” Tony asked, just as they’d practiced. There was a set of questions he was to ask, strictly _Yes_ or _No_ as to not raise suspicion so that the captors assumed he was simply going along with the authentication. Peter had to admit that it was a fairly dumb concept, however it was proving effective. The woman’s impatient expression never faltered and she continued to fiddle with the ring on her left hand, keeping the phone held in place at Pete’s ear with her right.

 

“Yes,” the teen replied hoarsely.

 

“Have you been kidnapped?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you hurt?” The man asked timidly. Peter was reminded once again of the fire that continued to rage on his tongue.

 

“Yes,” he said and Tony cursed softly.

 

“What do they want?” He continued after a moment. The whooshing of the Iron Man suit blasting through the skies was slightly audible.

 

“Armory access codes,” he replied. The woman perked up a bit at the mention but remained silent.

 

“Jesus,” his mentor said exasperatedly in response. “Okay, I’ve got your location. Remember the training: Keep your mouth shut and don’t fight back. I know that’ll be hard for you but I’m already halfway there and I can’t have you getting any more hurt because of me,” Peter had to bite his tongue to keep from arguing. _This isn’t your fault._ “Hang in there, kid,” Tony said before disconnecting the call. Peter could hear the longing in his voice, how he wished to stay on the phone and the boy craved for further words of comfort, but the time for that was later. Right now they needed to stick to protocol and focus on the task at hand.

 

It didn’t take long for the woman to realize the call had been ended, her expression morphing from confused into anger. “What happened?” She demanded. “Did you get it?”

 

Peter kept his mouth shut, staring at the floor. Tony told him not to speak, so that’s what he’d do.

 

Her fingers were suddenly gripping his hair, harshly tugging at his locks so the boy met her raging eyes.

 

“There is no number, is there? You double-crossed me, you insolent brat!” She released him and delivered a painful backhand to the teen, his head snapping to the side with the force of the hit. A small cut formed where her ring had connected with his cheek. “Stark will be blowing this place to hell within five minutes, we’ll never get away in time,” she spoke to the men behind Peter, sauntering towards the table. She retrieved a much more menacing-looking bottle than the one before, much larger and a whole lot darker, then tossed it to her accomplice. “Might as well teach him a decent _lesson_ before he does.”

 

This time Peter was way ahead of them. He’d sucked in a huge gulp of air and sealed his lips before she could even uncap the container, hoping it’d be enough to last until Mister Stark got here. They followed the same routine as last time— Yanking his head back, holding his nose shut. Only this time the lady was far too fed up. She drove her fist into the teen’s stomach once, twice, three times until Peter couldn’t take it anymore, breathing in the biggest gasp of air her could manage before the bottle was shoved between his teeth.

 

He doesn’t think he’d ever experienced something so utterly agonizing.

 

This new bottle was clearly a stronger hot sauce as he’d immediately gagged after the first drop. The spice had increased a tenfold and it felt as if the liquid was searing straight through his tongue, comparable to acid. His reflexes were overpowering. In an attempt to prevent any more liquid from slipping down his esophagus his throat seemed to close up, in turn only causing the sauce to spurt back and gather above the now sealed tube. Peter was completely helpless and he thrashed, feeling some of his strength coming back to him but not nearly enough and not nearly fast enough. Additionally his other powers returned, including the teen’s heightened senses which amplified the pain by a million. The boy could feel every individual taste bud getting attacked, every square centimeter of his mouth _screaming_ at him to make it stop. For a brief moment, his panicked mind had the urge to clamp his jaw shut and shatter the bottle completely, but he knew he’d only end up with a mess of glass sticking into his tongue and throat so he ignored the impulse.

 

After what felt like centuries, when the bottle only had a quarter left and Pete’s eyes were on the brink of rolling into the back of his head, there was an earth-shattering crash, pieces of wood raining down on the four. The man’s hold on the bottle loosened, as did the others on his head before they made a pitiful attempt to run for it at the sight of Iron Man raising his blasters at them. The criminals got about a foot before they were unconscious on the ground. Tony shot out a set of ropes that blinded the woman and she went crashing to the floor as well, still conscious.

 

Peter immediately whipped his head to the side to rid the bottle from his mouth, hearing it smash against the floor before letting out a pained groan. Tony rushed to undo his restraints as his helmet retracted back into his suit, revealing the frantic and wild eyes of a man who’d just been forced to save his kid from kidnappers for the fourth time in a year.

 

“I’ve got you, Underoos. I’ve got you,” he reassured, bringing Peter in for a hug. The boy could have listened to his reassurances for hours, but it was impossible to enjoy them with his throat still a complete mess of hot sauce, saliva, and bile. The pain was consuming him, so much so that the only way he could communicate it was by weakly slapping at his mentor’s chest and pointing to his neck. “Shit. _Shit_. God, what did they do to you?” he muttered, cupping the boy’s cheek with an exposed hand.

 

“A special sauce made from pure capsaicin, the hottest pepper known to man,” the woman chuckled evilly from her spot on the floor. “Have fun cleaning _this_ mess up, Stark.”

 

This time, Tony didn’t hold back. He fired a blast right into her chest, just enough to keep her alive.

 

“C’nt—C’nt br’th,” Peter tried to say past the burning and gagging of his throat. Tony responded without hesitation, scooping Peter up into the most secure position possible and jetting out of there.

 

They got to the compound ten minutes later and by this time Peter was sure his entire face had melted off. Everything past his teeth was numb yet the pain continued to persist, and his stomach began to rumble dangerously.

 

Helen was already there waiting with her nurses and supplies prepped as they burst through the doors of the med bay, Tony gently laying Pete down in the cot. Tears kept streaming down his face, eyes a deep red color as was the rest of his face. Snot ran from his nostrils and despite knowing it was a natural reaction to the spice, Pete felt a surge of humiliation, feeling like a six-year-old with a cold who didn’t know how to take care of himself. The teen gladly taking the wad of tissues a nurse offered him and met Tony’s worried eyes. The suit was gone and he spoke on the phone, though Pete couldn’t make out what he was saying over the commotion of nurses examining him for external injuries, inserting an IV, and shining penlights in his eyes.

 

“It’s his mouth. They forced him to swallow hot sauce,” Tony spoke coldly, having finished his phone call. He handed a small sample of it to Helen that Pete hadn’t noticed him collecting before they left. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as her jaw set in determination. Peter could see the gears turning in her mind, the doctor taking his status into account and deciding the best course of treatment for him. Peter would have marveled at the woman working so professionally in her environment if _he_ wasn’t the one she was working on.

 

“How many bottles?” She asked. Tony looked to Peter who in turn held up two shaky fingers, followed by a turning of the hand back and forth as if to say _give or take_. Cho understood.

 

“Get him prepped for gastric lavage,” she announced. Her nurses nodded in affirmation and moved to gather the supplies needed for whatever the hell that medical procedure was. Judging by the way Tony stiffened at the declaration, it can’t have been good.

 

Peter continued to pant and struggle to take in breaths behind the gas mask that’d been administered, trying his best to ignore the continued red-hot sweltering that continued to boil inside his mouth. Tony rubbed his ankle soothingly as he spoke, “I’m no medical professional and I wouldn’t want to impede on your judgment but is a _stomach pump_ really the way to go? Can’t you just— Make him throw up?” He questioned. Peter’s heart dropped. A stomach pump? He remembered all the times Tony told him of the four times he’d needed the procedure done during his drinking days, emphasizing how horrible the experiences were in order to convince Peter to never make the bad decisions he did. Even May often talked about having to do them during her more hectic shifts, and how she despised merely  _watching_ it. Peter didn’t want that to happen, he didn’t want to feel invaded and violated the same way Tony described he had.

 

“This sauce is the hottest on the planet. Over two million Scoville heat units and he consumed god knows how much. If we don’t get it out quickly it could rip his intestines apart from the inside out, and if it comes back up the other way mixed with stomach acid it could burn a hole in his esophagus. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I don’t intend on keeping him on a feeding tube for the next two weeks,” she scolded, bringing the proper machine to his bedside. Peter looked to Tony, mind frenzied. The man pushed past the nurse who had removed the oxygen mask from Pete’s mouth, who scowled at the intrusion before helping elsewhere.

 

“Hey, Pete. Look at me,” his mentor cupped his face for the second time that night, turning the boy’s head to face him.

 

“Don—Don’t want,” Peter spoke, some of his voice having come back since the cabin. His throat still grated with every movement but it was better than having to keep quiet through all of this.

 

“I know, kid, but we have to, okay? You don’t want to live without your digestive tract, do you?” He joked. “Where would all those gummy worms go?” Peter grinned at the joke, smile disappearing when the bed was adjusted further back. The fear and dread returned, Pete gripping at his mentor’s sleeve.

 

“Want May,” Peter spoke thickly. Tony softened.

 

“She’s on her way, I promise,” the man’s eyes flicked to something above Peter’s head. “Just keep your eyes on me, alright bud? It’ll be okay.” The teen nodded, wholeheartedly trusting his mentor.

 

A giant rubber bib similar to those you’d wear while getting an X-ray was draped over his chest, a smaller white cloth placed directly under his chin to catch any rogue fluids that may have ended up escaping. Helen gently tipped his head forward and Tony moved so that he remained in Peter’s line of vision, giving the boy a reassuring nod. Despite everything this eased his nerves, even when a thin tube was held in front of his mouth.

 

“Open wide,” she instructed and Peter obliged. The tube was slowly inserted in and he gagged when it tickled the back of his throat. “Swallow for me Peter, that’s it.” Helen continued with this until it was finished, the rubber shaking down his esophagus and into his stomach. Peter resisted the overwhelming urge to gag as it sat there in all its glory, invading him, _violating_ him. Tony’s lectures didn’t do it justice. It was worse than he could have ever imagined, and as the machine whirred to life, draining Peter of the fluids that had been shoved into him against his will he gripped Tony’s wrist in an attempt to extract any comfort possible.

 

Tony squeezed right back, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of the boy’s arm. “It’ll be over before you know it, you’re doing great,” he spoke.

 

Moments later the machine turned off and saline was poured down the tube. Feeling liquid get transported directly into his stomach was an odd experience and Peter coughed twice before she was saying, “This will be unpleasant. Remember to breathe,” and proceeded to pull the tube back out, handing it off to a nurse before ensuring everything went according to plan.

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. Now that he wasn’t so concerned about a foreign object intruding on his stomach, the burning was back and this time full force. The drug they’d used to knock him out was likely fully metabolized by then, which also meant his powers were dialed back to their highest setting. He whined, signaling Tony to request a cup of milk. Once delivered he took one big swing of it, swishing the beverage around in his mouth.

 

Peter could have sunken into the floor, it was so relieving. The spiciness was dulled tremendously and the teen relished in the feeling before he was forced to swallow and consequently took another drink.

 

During the third guzzle was when May walked in, tired and exasperated but thankful Peter was now safe. The two hugged it out and, as routine, reassured each other that they were okay. Peter was afraid she had gotten worried out of her mind and that she was, but not drastically enough that it caused her to stroke out. May, in turn, was afraid that her nephew was horribly injured or worse, to which he ensured that she knew he was okay. He was just glad she wasn’t there to watch him get his stomach pumped.

 

“I can’t believe this happened again,” Tony said an hour later. He’d been lost in thought for a while and only then decided to speak.

 

“No, no, no,” May rebuked. “We’re not playing the blame game again.”

 

“I’m not, I just—“ He cut himself off with a sigh and rubbed his left arm. “ _Why_ does this keep happening is a better question. You said she knew your clearance level? How could she have possibly gotten that information?” Peter shrugged and swished another sip of milk around in his mouth, the burning now greatly depleted. “Do I need to have Happy follow you everywhere? I don’t want to pin that on you, Pete, but unless I swaddle you in bubble wrap I don’t feel comfortable letting you walk the streets alone anymore.”

 

“Bubble wrap? That’s not a bad idea,” May supplied.

 

“Maybe you can put a tracking chip in me,” Peter joked. Tony’s eyes glimmered. “I didn’t mean that literally, Mister Stark,” he backtracked. They all chuckled, and Peter knew that they’d figure something out. Tony would up his security, stash Peter’s files away in some Arctic bunker and probably teach the kid more hand-to-hand combat. Maybe equip him with pepper spray and a taser, if he got lucky.

 

“Thank you, Tony,” May added. “I don’t feel like I say that enough.”

 

“You do, May. Trust me. And of course,” he grinned at Peter, who smiled back. The boy was thoroughly exhausted but his love for Mister Stark and his aunt would always outshine that. “Anything for Peter.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for reading !! Feel free to leave any and all thoughts below :)
> 
> Also has anybody seen Captain Marvel?? I saw it last week and it COMPLETELY CHANGED MY LIFE!! Definitely go see it if you get the chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos mean the world and inspire me to work harder and write better. Even the smallest message could make my week, so don't feel afraid to leave your thoughts!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! celestialparkers.tumblr.com


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